itli 


¥M 


i! 


nun 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  TORTOISE 


BOOKS  BY  MARY  BORDEN 


THE  ROMANTIC  WOMAN 
THE  TORTOISE 


THE     TORTOISE 


A    NOVEL 


BY 

MARY    BORDEN 


NEW  YORK 

ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  INC. 


FEINTED   IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMEXICA 


PART  ONE 


641524 


THE  man  and  the  woman  were  dreadfully 
still  in  the  joyous  rustling  garden. 
Through  the  early  rippling  light  of  lovely 
morning  they  showed  like  desolate  statues  —  mo- 
tionless, soundless,  pallid.  It  was  as  if  the  dark 
night  had  turned  them  to  stone,  and  left  upon  them 
its  darkness.  The  man  was  at  a  distance  from  the 
woman.  The  long  emerald  lawn  still  silvery  with 
dew,  and  the  shining  space  above  it,  where  the  birds 
darted  and  twittered,  separated  them,  but  something 
invisible,  taut  as  a  strong  wire  held  them  together. 
The  man  was  bigger  than  most  men.  He  loomed 
huge  and  heavy  before  the  rose-laden  gable  of  the 
small  doorway,  his  great  back  and  hunched  shoul- 
ders turned  to  the  long  low  house  that  seemed  too 
small  for  him.  A  weary  Colossus,  his  feet  planted 
on  the  brick  walk  between  the  beds  of  wallflowers 
and  pansies,  he  waited,  immensely  still.  His  atten- 
tion was  fixed  on  the  distant  woman,  who  sat  rigid 
on  the  edge  of  a  garden  seat,  in  the  centre  of  the 
lawn,  her  long  body  tilted  forward,  her  bosom  lifted, 
her  pale  head  averted  and  thrown  back  so  that 
her  face  received  the  full  light  of  the  sun.  Her 
pose  was  that  of  a  figure  nailed  to  the  prow  of  a 
ship.  Her  arms  hung  down,  slanting  backward. 
The  powerful  gesture  of  her  hands,  if  she  had 

9 


io  THE  TORTOISE 

moved,  would  have  been  that  of  a  swimmer,  but  she 
made  no  gesture.  Her  figure  was  tense  with  the 
dangerous  stillness  of  fear.  She  looked  to  him  like 
one  who  would  commit  suicide  by  drowning  in  the 
sunlight  if  she  could. 

It  was  clear  that  this  man  was  capable  of  great 
physical  effort,  but  now  all  his  effort  and  all  his 
power  was  concentrated  in  looking  at  her.  In  the 
large  white  mask  of  his  expressionless  face,  his  eyes 
were  like  small  lighted  openings  through  which  es- 
caped, toward  her,  all  the  life  that  was  in  him.  His 
looking  at  her  was  desperate.  He  looked  because 
he  could  not  help  looking.  And  while  he  looked 
his  strength  ebbed  away  from  him.  Looking  weak- 
ened him  as  if  a  vein  had  been  opened  in  his  wrist, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  take  his  eyes  from  her.  He 
thought:  "  Tomorrow  she  may  be  gone.  It  is  im- 
possible that  I  shall  never  see  her  again." 

He  dared  go  no  nearer. 

She  was  small  and  white  in  the  centre  of  the  lawn. 
High  birch  trees  towered  above  her  shaping  the  sky 
to  a  canopy  over  her  head.  Beyond  her  gleamed 
the  lily  pond  framed  in  its  round  basin.  He  saw 
her  as  the  mysterious  and  incalculable,  and  uncertain 
centre  of  the  beautiful  unsafe  world.  So  he  had 
always  seen  her.  Never  had  he  felt  safe  with  her. 
Keeping  her  had  been  his  gamble  with  fate.  He 
had  played  high,  he  had  played  constantly,  higher 
and  higher,  and  he  had  believed  he  would  win.  His 
faith  had  been  profound,  but  now  he  was  no  longer 
sure.  He  saw  her  in  a  new  and  terrible  posture. 


THE  TORTOISE  n 

She  had  told  him,  without  speech,  not  to  believe  any 
more.  Yet  he  would  not  give  up  hope  —  and  how 
could  he  stop  believing?  She  had  acted.  She  had 
taken  the  issue  out  of  his  hands  and  yet  he  counted 
still  on  one  chance.  If  he  left  her  completely  alone 
there  was  a  chance.  He  could  do  nothing  but  leave 
her  alone.  Yet  he  could  not  help  watching  her. 
He  could  not  help  looking. 

He  felt  sure  that  up  to  that  moment  she  had  not 
seen  him  looking.  He  believed  that  never  had  she 
seen  him  looking  at  her  as  he  had  actually  always 
looked.  And  although  it  might  possibly  be  that 
even  now  his  face  expressed  nothing,  he  felt  that  it 
must  at  last  be  the  ordinary  man's  face  of  self-be- 
trayal. 

She  had  once  said  what  a  pity  it  was  that  he  had 
not  a  face  of  his  own.  Now  he  was  glad  of  that, 
but  was  nevertheless  afraid  to  trust  the  blankness 
of  the  mask  God  had  lent  him.  He  would  have 
lived  over  again  all  the  many  dumb  hours  of  hatred 
of  that  vast  pale  disc  that  said  nothing  to  her  to 
be  sure  now  that  it  was  quite  as  usual,  a  smooth 
round  slit  surface  that  made  people  stare  curiously 
and  told  no  tales  of  its  owner. 

His  stillness  was  not  dramatic  as  was  her  stillness. 
It  was  not  a  wild  arrested  movement.  His  was  a 
far  greater  stillness  than  hers.  It  conveyed  no  pos- 
sibility of  relief.  He  was  so  still  that  he  looked  as 
though  never  again  could  any  ripple  of  movement 
pass  over  his  bulk,  neither  over  his  heavy  shoulders, 
his  huge  torso,  his  massive  legs,  nor  his  feet.  One 


i2  THE  TORTOISE 

felt  that  his  present  stillness  was  a  thing  acquired 
long  ago  and  was  only  the  culmination  and  the  tre- 
mendous result  of  his  old  habitual  quiet.  The  effort 
he  now  made  was  only  the  gathered  concentrated 
expression  of  the  effort  he  had  always  made.  He 
had  always  willed  not  to  alarm  her,  and  he  had  never 
enjoyed  making  her  laugh.  So  he  had  always  willed 
to  be  quiet  in  her  presence.  It  was  only  when  he 
was  quiet  that  he  neither  alarmed  people  nor  made 
them  laugh.  His  effect  of  alarm  or  amusement  on 
other  people  was  indifferent  to  him,  but  nothing  that 
concerned  her  was  indifferent  to  him. 

Now  he  knew  that  there  was  the  greatest  danger 
of  alarming  her  and  the  pathos  of  her  fear  that  had 
always  hurt  him,  hurt  him  anew  in  the  midst  of  other 
new  things. 

It  seemed  to  him  at  this  moment  that  with  all  his 
stillness,  if  he  moved  towards  her,  he  was  bound  to 
frighten  her  to  death.  Just  as  it  seemed  to  him  that 
to  her,  his  restrained  regard  for  her  must  seem  like 
a  curse.  Yet  he  could  not  help  his  regard  for  her. 
Ages  ago,  he  had  known  that  all  he  could  do  for  her 
was  to  restrain  it,  so  that  it  might  not  alarm  her. 
The  restraint  that  he  put  upon  himself  was  so  great 
that  it  made  the  sweat  stand  in  beads  on  his  fore- 
head, but  it  was  only  a  greater  degree  of  the  same 
restraint  that  he  had  practised  for  years. 

Everything  that  had  to  do  with  him  and  with  her, 
seemed  to  him  to  have  been  for  ages.  Everything 
that  concerned  them  together  seemed  to  him  to  be 
forever.  She  had  willed  to  destroy  it,  but  it  could 


THE  TORTOISE  13 

not  be  destroyed,  so  it  seemed  to  him.  He  watched 
fixedly  the  fixed  gesture  of  her  destroying  despair. 
The  hurt  that  it  caused  him  was  so  great  that  he 
found  it  difficult  to  breathe,  but  the  pain  that  had 
plunged  into  him  the  night  before  and  had 
stayed  there  had  destroyed  nothing.  He  would 
have  set  her  free  to  destroy  if  he  could,  but  he  could 
not.  He  would  have  freed  her  from  that  terrible 
posture  at  any  risk,  if  he  could,  but  he  could 
not.  He  saw  that  she  would  kill  herself  to  save 
herself  if  she  could.  And  he  would  have  killed  him- 
self to  save  her  if  he  could,  but  he  saw  that  she  could 
not  and  that  he  could  not.  There  would  be  no  kill- 
ing and  no  ending,  yet  there  must  be  something. 
He  did  not  know  yet  what  it  must  be,  but  he  knew 
that  there  must  be  something. 

He  became  aware  as  he  watched  her  that  her 
beauty  interfered  with  his  seeing  of  her.  It  had 
always  been  so,  more  or  less.  Now  it  was  more  so. 
In  his  great  desire  to  understand  her,  he  was  hin- 
dered by  the  fact  of  her  beauty.  Her  beauty  dis- 
guised her,  and  made  her  mysterious  in  a  less  impor- 
tant way  than  she  was  actually  mysterious.  Her 
beauty  used  up  a  part  of  his  mind  and  his  will,  and 
the  strength  that  he  would  have  turned  to  her  serv- 
ice. He  found  himself  now  dwelling  upon  the  per- 
fect round  of  her  head  that  was  like  a  smooth  gold 
coin  glinting  in  the  sun.  He  was  disturbed  to  find 
that  he  could  not  keep  even  now  from  looking  with 
absorption  at  that  golden  head.  His  keen  exclusive 
delight  in  the  look  of  that  object  confused  him.  He 


14  THE  TORTOISE 

could  not  distinguish  at  such  a  distance  the  line  of 
her  profile,  her  high  nose  and  the  curve  of  her  fine 
pointed  lips,  but  he  imagined  them  for  himself  and 
he  pondered  again  upon  the  strange  quality  of  her 
face  that  made  her  look  a  foreigner  in  every  coun- 
try. It  was  neither  Scandinavian  nor  Slav.  There 
were  days  when  she  even  looked  what  she  was,  an 
Englishwoman,  but  her  wide  smooth  lidded  eyes  with 
the  sweeping  eyebrows  that  dipped  down  the  sides 
of  her  forehead  and  the  thin  cheeks  that  came  up 
high  under  them  gave  her  a  strange  distinction. 
Often  she  looked  to  him  when  she  moved  in  an 
open  space  like  some  strange  Goddess  come  to  earth 
to  escape  boredom.  She  moved  as  if  she  had  wings 
to  her  feet,  and  were  refraining  from  soaring  out 
of  kindness  for  heavy  people.  Now,  he  perceived 
so  much  energy  in  her  stillness  that  he  felt  if  the 
thing  that  held  her  gave  way,  she  would  shoot  like 
a  rocket  into  the  distance,  disappear  above  the  tree 
tops  and  go  back  perhaps  to  Olympus  where  there 
was  the  freedom  he  could  not  make  for  her,  the 
immense  monotonous  freedom  of  irresponsible  per- 
fection. 

Her  grandeur  was  not  perfection.  There  was 
not  that  finality  to  her.  He  had  never  found  any 
fault  in  her,  nor  had  he  ever  been  disappointed.  On 
the  other  hand,  never,  and  that  was  the  strangeness, 
never  had  he  been  content  with  her.  The  moments 
of  most  complete  possession  had  been  the  moments 
of  deepest  longing,  but  it  was  not  only  because  of 
his  own  limited  capacity  for  receiving,  it  was  also 


THE  TORTOISE  15 

that  his  mind  went  beyond  what  she  so  wonderfully 
was  and  beheld  breathlessly  what  she  could  be.  He 
was  doing  that  now.  He  was  doing  it  as  he  had 
never  done  it.  The  pain  she  had  dealt  him  had  sent 
his  imagination  tearing  through  vistas  of  herself  he 
had  never  dreamt  of. 

He  admitted  with  an  anguish  made  up  of  shame 
and  anger,  that  another  man's  interference  had 
brought  this  about. 

One  thing  was  certain,  he  refused  to  divide  her. 
But  he  knew  that  his  refusal  to  share  her  with  that 
one  or  with  any  other  was  not  a  claim  to  owning. 
He  had  never  so  much  as  thought  of  her  in  terms 
of  owning.  It  was  rather  that  he  could  not  conceive 
a  modification  of  their  juxtaposition.  Either  he  or 
she  must  cease  to  exist  to  make  room  for  another. 
And  if  he  and  she  persisted,  then  the  other  must 
cease  to  be. 

And  one  thing  bewildered  him.  He  was  not  sure 
that  she  saw  it  as  he  did.  He  was  almost  sure 
that  she  did  not.  If  she  did,  why  had  she  come  back 
with  the  impression  of  the  other  man  so  deep  upon 
her?  She  had  not  left  that  other  one.  She  had 
brought  him  with  her.  The  face  she  had  turned  to 
him  on  her  arrival  was  marked  with  his  mark.  It 
had  become  a  luminous  sharp  face.  The  stranger's 
hatred  of  him  had  looked  at  him  out  of  her  eyes. 
He  had  watched  for  the  compassionate  sweetness 
her  eyes  usually  offered  him,  but  when  the  stranger's 
hatred  faded  it  had  given  place  to  her  own  appre- 
hension. Her  movements  too  were  not  her  own. 


1 6  THE  TORTOISE 

She  had  moved  swifty,  darting  here  and  there  in  little 
rushes.  Her  body  had  been  a  tormented  thing  in 
his  presence. 

Yet  she  had  come  back  to  him. 

And  she  had  given  no  explanation. 

It  was  clear  that  she  had  not  yet  decided  to  leave 
him.  Something  had  driven  her  back.  Another 
thing  was  pulling  her  away.  Maybe  she  had  come 
back  to  decide.  Maybe  she  was  deciding  now. 

He  understood  that  she  was  spell  bound  by  the  tor- 
ment of  her  indecision. 

All  that  he  could  do  was  to  leave  her  alone.  If 
she  had  come  back  wanting  to  know  how  he  would 
take  it,  she  knew  now.  Actually  she  must  have 
known  all  along.  She  had  wanted  perhaps  merely 
to  do  him  the  justice  of  having  there  before  her  his 
enormous  dumb  refusal. 

Silence  was  their  one  safety.  He  put  his  trust  in 
it.  More  than  their  dignity  depended  on  it.  Any 
sound  of  words  would  be  fatal.  He  knew  that  if  he 
approached  her  and  spoke,  his  voice  would  terrify 
her  into  action.  The  thing  needed  understanding. 
Speech  would  destroy  comprehension.  Also,  she 
must  face  it  alone.  He  had  lost  her,  either  for  the 
time  being  or  for  eternity,  he  did  not  know  which. 
She  must  go  or  come  back  to  him.  It  must  be  her 
doing.  He  was  helpless.  If  she  were  intending 
to  go,  no  word  of  his  would  keep  her.  If  she  went 
she  would  go  without  speaking;  he  would  find  her 
gone. 

So  with  one  final  draught  of  her  beauty,  that  he 


THE  TORTOISE  17 

took  from  his  distance,  panting  slightly  as  a  man 
exhausted  with  pain  and  with  thirst,  he  turned  from 
her  and  stumbled  his  way  up  the  stairs.  In  his  room 
he  took  off  the  clothes  he  had  had  on  all  night,  put 
on  some  others  and  ordered  his  motor. 

She  from  her  seat  in  the  garden,  heard  the  sound 
of  his  car  and  turned  her  head  startled,  listened  to 
the  grinding  of  its  brakes  and  the  powerful  whirr 
of  its  engines  and  then  as  it  burred  smoothly  away, 
carrying  him  up  to  the  city,  the  thing  that  held  her 
snapped  suddenly,  and  with  her  hands  up  to  her  face 
she  flung  herself  back  in  her  chair. 


II 

THOUGH  she  had  not  seen  him  standing  un- 
der the  porch  she  had  felt  him  somewhere 
in  the  background  and  his  presence  had  ex- 
ercised on  her  nerves  an  intolerable  pressure.  Her 
physical  fear  of  him  had  kept  her  rigid.  She  had 
drawn  herself  in  tight,  to  combat  it,  but  his  going 
did  not  give  her  the  kind  of  relief  she  had  expected. 
While  there,  he  had  filled  the  place  to  suffocation 
but  his  absence  was  a  positive  thing  too,  a  vacuum 
which  refused  to  be  filled.  There  was  no  comfort 
in  it.  Instead  of  a  definite  menace  confronting  her, 
there  was  now  closing  about  her  a  confined  and 
strained  emptiness  with  her  thoughts  let  loose  in  it  to 
buzz  like  a  lot  of  flies  under  a  glass  jar. 

There  was  no  longer,  at  least  for  the  moment,  any 
probability  of  his  hurting  her,  there  was  only  the 
horror  of  the  certainty  of  her  hurting  him.  It 
would  have  been  much  easier  for  her,  had  he  hit  her. 
For  a  time  she  had  been  so  convinced  that  he  would 
kill  her,  that  she  had  forgotten  his  pain.  What  she 
hated  most  of  all  was  the  idea  of  making  him  suffer. 
She  would  have  preferred  his  killing  her.  Now  she 
was  left  to  imagine  what  depths  of  complicated  suf- 
fering had  made  him  refrain  from  doing  so. 

It  was  like  him  not  to  do  the  inevitable  thing. 

18 


THE  TORTOISE  19 

He  was  a  violent  giant  who  had  never  cracked  a  tea- 
cup in  her  presence. 

Her  mind  zig-zagged  suddenly. 

How  sea-sick  she  had  been  yesterday.  It  was 
yesterday  that  she  had  come  home.  She  remem- 
bered the  green  chopping  waves  of  the  Channel  and 
the  nausea  that  had  absorbed  all  thought  and  all 
torment.  Sea  sickness,  wonderful  and  annihilating, 
had  come  to  her  rescue.  What  a  relief.  She  had 
solved  every  problem  by  wanting  violently  to  die  and 
end  the  horrid  sensation.  If  one  were  often  sea- 
sick one  would  have  no  emotions  and  no  conscience. 
No  man's  attraction  was  strong  enough  to  counteract 
nausea.  She  would  have  turned  from  Jocelyn  de 
St.  Christe  with  a  groan. 

Very  well  then. 

Her  mind  wavered.  William  was  always  very 
gentle  when  one  was  ill.  He  knew  what  to  do.  She 
remembered  him  in  a  darkened  room  sitting  beside 
her  bed  in  the  night,  hour  after  hour,  watching, 
keeping  her  alive  by  the  closeness  of  his  watching  — 
willing  her  to  live  moment  by  moment,  never  let- 
ting go.  She  jerked  her  mind  back  from  that  mem- 
ory. It  hurt  her  too  much. 

Her  husband  had  saved  her  life,  so  that  now  she 
could  leave  him  and  break  his  heart.  That  was 
just  a  phrase.  She  imagined  his  actual  heart  under 
ribs  in  his  enormous  chest,  bursting,  being  torn  in 
two  there  inside  him,  shreds  of  blood  and  naked 
flesh.  Ugh  —  ludicrous.  People  didn't  suffer  as 
much  as  one  thought.  They  couldn't.  There  was  a 


20  THE  TORTOISE 

limit  to  any  suffering.  She  was  in  pain  now.  There 
was  a  vivid,  throbbing  pain  in  her  side  and  a  dull 
sick  pain  all  through  her.  It  was  because  of  Wil- 
liam. She  was  imagining  what  he  would  feel. 

If  only  she  could  forget  him,  she  would  be  happy. 
She  could  then  give  herself  up  to  enjoying  her  ro- 
mance. It  was  more  than  a  romance.  It  was  a 
deep,  elemental,  fearful  thing.  It  was  like  a  story  of 
cave-dwellers  —  of  a  prehistoric  man  and  woman,  a 
great  instinctive  passion  surging  up  through  the  glit- 
tering artificial  layer  of  social  life. 

Jocelyn  was  beautiful.  She  herself  was  beautiful. 
They  were  two  beautiful  animals.  That  was  import- 
ant Surely  that  was  important.  The  mating  of 
two  beautiful  creatures  was  glorious.  She  was  not 
vain,  she  knew  what  she  was  made  for  —  she  was  a 
primitive  woman,  and  she  knew  at  last  what  she 
wanted.  She  had  seen  it  and  recognized  it  and  then 
had  run  away  from  it.  Why?  Because  of  William. 
William  her  husband  was  in  the  way.  He  was  not 
her  mate.  The  other  was  that  —  but  —  but  — 
William  was  something  —  something  enormous, 
something  strong  and  wistful  and  innocent.  Could 
one  hurt  a  child?  She  thanked  God  now  that  she 
had  no  children,  but  could  one  strike  a  child  in  the 
face  that  looked  at  one  with  believing  eyes  —  that 
drew  one's  hurting  compassion  out  of  one  ?  William 
was  a  power.  His  brain  was  immense.  He  ex- 
isted publicly,  filling  much  space.  Sometimes  he  ex- 
ulted —  over  mobs  of  men  —  silently  without  show- 
ing it,  enjoying  his  power.  Then  in  those  moments, 


THE  TORTOISE  21 

she  could  turn  against  him,  but  with  her  he  was  never 
like  that,  he  was  timid  —  a  child.  It  was  unfair. 

Always,  always  she  had  been  sorry  for  William. 
It  was  exhausting  being  sorry  for  a  man  in  that  way. 
.  Or  was  she  deluding  herself,  did  it  only  seem  to  her 
like  that  now?  If  she  were  honest,  she  would  have 
to  admit  that  she  had  had  other  feelings  for  William 
than  compassion.  Fear  —  she  was  afraid  of  him 
sometimes.  Confidence  — .  It  was  a  habit  to 
count  on  him —  and  other  feelings. 

But  she  wanted  Jocelyn.  She  wanted  his  joy,  his 
humor,  his  fantastic  whimsical  mind.  He  was 
happy.  His  happiness  was  contagious.  He  was 
full  of  "joie-de-vivre ".  One  could  not  imagine 
him  suffering  very  much.  He  knew  what  things  were 
worth;  he  never  asked  for  the  impossible.  He  un- 
derstood the  limits  of  pleasure.  He  knew  how  to 
drain  the  cup  of  life  —  he  had  drunk  deep  of  it. 
She  had  not  even  tasted.  She  would  drink  with  him, 
she  would  drink  deep,  deep.  His  voice  made  her 
Understand.  It  promised  wonderful  things.  His 
voice  quick  and  staccato ;  clever,  caressing  voice, 
expressing  things  she  had  never  dreamed  of.  It 
had  affected  her  strangely.  The  mocking  poetry  in 
his  voice,  passion  laughing  at  its  own  savageness, 
sensuality  of  the  intellect,  delicate  fire.  Ah  —  yes, 
he  was  a  proficient  lover  —  Where  had  he  learned  it 
all?  She  was  jealous. 

Never  mind.  She  had  never  wanted  anyone  be- 
fore. She  would  never  want  anyone  again  —  never. 
She  was  like  that.  She  had  recognized  him  at  once, 


22  THE  TORTOISE 

the  unique  man.  It  had  not  been  the  same  with  him. 
He  had  only  realized  gradually.  Men  were  differ- 
ent. Frenchmen.  Jocelyn  was  French.  He  was 
not  primitive,  on  the  contrary.  He  knew  everything. 
His  youth  seemed  a  miracle,  for  he  might  have  lived 
a  hundred  years,  so  his  voice  said,  sometimes.  His 
knowledge  had  troubled  her  at  first.  His  eyes  had 
travelled  over  her  terribly  wise,  divining  everything. 
Horrid,  if  one  was  not  brave  enough  to  strip  one's 
soul  to  his  gaze.  Shameful  —  or  wonderful.  He 
would  laugh  if  she  talked  like  that.  She  must  never 
use  exalted  language  with  him,  he  would  only  make 
fun  of  her.  He  had  no  illusions  —  no  dreams  —  all 
the  more  reason  to  believe  in  the  tribute  of  his 
earnestness.  And  he  was  in  earnest  —  she  knew 
he  admitted  the  deep  elemental  thing  drawing  them 
one  to  the  other.  Nothing  else  mattered  —  nothing 
in  the  world  mattered  but  that. 

William  was  romantic  —  but  dumb.  Poor  Wil- 
liam !  Certainly  his  love  for  her  was  sublime  — 
but  how  it  bored  her  now. 

Why  had  she  refused  Jocelyn  what  he  wanted, 
what  they  both  wanted?  She  might  have  had  it. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  swooning  sensation. 
Closing  her  eyes  she  invoked  his  physical  presence, 
the  odor  of  his  face,  his  dark  skin,  his  hair,  the 
touch  of  his  coat  and  his  intangible  personal  essence 
so  real  in  her  imagination  produced  in  her  body  a  run- 
ning fiery  sweetness  as  if  she  were  sipping  a  strong 
intoxicating  liquor. 

She  had  been  unable  to  escape  William  without 


THE  TORTOISE  23 

first  coming  back  to  face  him.  It  had  been  neces- 
sary to  confront  him  with  her  secret.  Her  faith  in 
the  miracle  had  been  so  great  that  she  had  not  be- 
gun to  be  afraid  till  the  train  drew  into  Charing 
Cross  station.  She  had  actually  until  then  expected 
him  to  shrivel  up  at  the  sight  of  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  had  swelled  to  even  greater  proportions. 

He  had  loomed  upon  her  through  the  dark  hurry- 
ing crowd,  and  she  had  thought:  "Either  he  will 
kill  me  or  I  shall  see  him  lying  at  my  feet  hideously 
undone  by  what  I've  to  tell  him." 

He  had  remained  impassive,  and  she  had  been 
forced  to  admit  that  his  impassivity  had  partaken  of 
grandeur. 

Yet  Jocelyn  had  remained  beautiful.  She  still 
saw  him  as  she  had  always  seen  him,  slim,  swift, 
electric,  full  of  light,  shining  and  drawing  her  to  him. 
Lying  there,  limp  and  flabby  in  the  garden  chair,  she 
felt  him  drawing  her,  just  as  the  sun  was  drawing  up 
the  dew  from  the  grass.  She  felt  like  a  soft,  sticky 
substance  that  was  oozing  away,  being  soaked  up  b^ 
a  distant  longing. 

She  lay  in  a  stupor  of  emotion. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  in  danger. 
Her  position  on  that  solid  wooden  seat  in  the  centre 
of  the  compact  expanse  of  emerald  turf,  became  per- 
ilous. She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  about  her, 
breathing  hurriedly,  and  conscious  of  her  heart 
thumping.  There  was  the  garden,  closing  round  her 
in  all  its  comfortable  luxuriance.  The  staunch  trees 
spread  wide  their  crisp  branches,  shutting  out  dis- 


24  THE  TORTOISE 

tance,  refusing  mystery.  The  hedges  were  solid 
walls  of  deep  green.  Where  brick  walls  cut  them, 
pleasant  vistas  of  sunny  tangles  led  one's  eye  just  a 
little  kindly  way,  but  the  seclusion  of  the  place  did  not 
assure  or  comfort  her.  All  about  it,  beyond  those 
neat  and  charming  confines  she  seemed  to  perceive 
a  surging  waste,  something  as  wide  and  terribly 
empty  as  a  desert.  She  had  a  vision  of  herself  in  a 
garden,  as  of  a  solitary  figure  on  an  island  that  was 
cut  loose  from  its  foundation  and  set  a-floating  on 
the  vast  expanse  of  desolate  and  eternal  uncertainty. 

She  shook  herself. 

The  garden  was  safe,  but  she  hated  its  safety. 
Beyond  it  the  dangerous  future  summoned  her. 

She  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  looking 
down  into  the  grass,  saw  little  creatures  there.  Tiny 
ants  were  scurrying  across  a  bare  patch  of  ground 
where  the  legs  of  a  chair  had  scraped  away  the  turf. 
One  was  dragging  a  crumb  of  bread.  He  was  busy. 
His  occupation  was  of  vast  importance.  His  com- 
panions too  were  all  busy.  The  sight  of  their  mi- 
nute self-sufficiency  annoyed  her. 

She  realized  now  that  she  had  hoped  William 
would  do  something  terrible.  If  he  had,  she  would 
be  free  now  and  running  toward  the  fulfillment  of  her 
joy.  It  was  for  this  that  she  had  come  back.  She 
had  wanted  him  to  help  her  destroy  the  thing  that 
bound  them.  Some  obscure  instinct  had  impelled 
her.  She  wanted  perfect  happiness  and  she  had 
known  deeply  that  she  would  never  obtain  it  unless 
William  annihilated  her  memory,  her  respect,  and 


THE  TORTOISE  25 

her  admiration,  by  some  ugliness.  He  had  not  done 
what  she  wanted.  His  refusal  to  set  her  free  had 
been  mute  and  mysterious  and  complete.  He  had 
kept  his  dignity.  His  identity  remained  intact.  He 
appeared  to  her  just  as  he  always  had  done,  only 
more  so.  He  had  not  struck  her  nor  insulted  her. 
He  had  merely  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  all 
night.  She  had  heard  his  step  under  her  window 
at  regular  intervals.  The  sound  of  it  had  made  her 
want  to  scream,  but  when  it  ceased  she  had  listened 
for  it  with  longing.  It  took  a  long  time  for  him  to 
go  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden  and  come  back.  Her 
mind  had  followed  him  in  the  dark,  keenly  aware  of 
him,  of  his  tenacity,  of  his  weight,  of  his  power. 
Toward  morning  she  had  listened  in  vain  for  his  step, 
and  had  gone  out  on  the  balcony  hoping  to  find  him 
beneath  her.  She  would  have  spoken,  or  thrown 
herself  down,  or  summoned  him  up  to  do  violence  to 
her  secret,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  and  the 
mysterious  trees  emerging  above  the  low  streamers 
of  white  mist  had  diminished  her  sense  of  herself  to 
a  pin  point. 

She  felt  dizzy  and  slightly  sick.  Her  chair 
seemed  to  sway  under  her.  Looking  apprehensively 
over  her  shoulder  she  got  upon  unsteady  feet.  The 
place  was  empty  and  its  safety  was  false  and  the  sun- 
light pouring  down  did  not  warm  her.  She  shivered. 

Jocelyn  de  St  Christe  was  there  —  waiting.  She 
could  see  his  eyes.  They  drew  her  to  him.  She 
could  feel  his  hands.  Hers  throbbed  within  them. 
Closer  she  leant.  Closer.  She  had  only  to  close 


26  THE  TORTOISE 

her  eyelids  and  fall  into  the  embrace  that  waited  to 
engulf  her. 

Something  was  holding  her  back. 

She  did  not  know  what  William  would  do  if  she 
left  him,  and  it  was  important  to  know  this. 

She  asked  herself  plainly  the  question,  forming 
the  words  distinctly. 

"  What  would  William  do  if  I  left  him  ?  "  Then 
she  listened  within  herself  for  the  answer,  her  head 
bent  and  turned  slightly  sideways  as  though  actually 
she  expected  to  hear  a  reply,  from  within  that  region 
of  her  body  where  her  heart  was  beating,  but  while 
she  waited  an  obscure  feeling  of  terror,  like  a  spread- 
ing voluminous  presence,  seemed  to  envelop  her  and 
a  sense  of  desolate  suffocation  fell  upon  her,  as  if  a 
gigantic  curtain  of  dust  were  falling  upon  her  out  of 
the  sky. 

Instinctively  drawing  herself  together  she  clasped 
her  arms  with  her  hands  across  her  chest  where 
there  was  so  much  hurting.  Her  expression  was  be- 
wildered. Could  it  be  that  a  question  asked  so  dis- 
tinctly in  words  could  be  answered  by  such  a  shape- 
less sensation?  That  was  not  what  she  wanted. 
She  was  suffering  enough  as  it  was.  She  wanted 
some  precise  knowledge,  some  literal  certainty;  any 
fact  that  would  fix  her  in  regard  to  the  man  she  was 
bound  to. 

She  must  know  what  he  would  do  before  she  did 
anything  herself. 

See  walked  across  to  the  lily  pond  and  looked  down 


THE  TORTOISE  27 

into  the  water.     There  she  saw  her  reflection  and 
little  gold  fishes  swimming  across  it. 

"  What  would  he  do?     What  would  he  do?  " 

The  round  stone  basin  held  a  pool  of  infinity  cap- 
tive. Looking  down  beyond  her  own  image  she  dis- 
cerned the  sky.  She  looked  down  and  down  into  the 
blue.  There  was  the  sandy  bottom,  and  there  was 
the  depthless  azure,  there  was  too,  a  white  cloud 
floating  and  the  round  leaves  of  the  water  lilies  cut- 
ting discs  out  of  its  whiteness. 

What  would  he  do,  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
married? 

The  crisp  leaves  of  the  ivy  growing  over  the 
stone  rim  of  the  basin,  made  a  dark  border  for  the 
mysterious  round  of  water.  The  sunlight  glanced 
off  from  the  hard  little  leaves.  They  absorbed  no 
light.  They  were  dark  and  glinting. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  it  would  be  easier  to  tell 
what  Jocelyn  would  do,  if  he  were  the  one  in 
her  husband's  place.  He  would  take  a  pistol,  a 
sword  or  a  horsewhip.  He  would  probably  choose  a 
sword.  He  had  done  it  before,  that  sort  of  thing, 
so  they  said,  laughing  in  Paris.  He  was  not  very 
modern.  He  liked  to  do  things  as  his  grandfather 
did  them  under  Napoleon.  She  could  see  him  bow 
and  then  run  the  other  man  through  and  turn  away 
slightly  pale. 

But  it  was  not  William  he  killed.  It  was  just 
some  imaginary  being.  No  one  could  kill  William 
or  hurt  him.  No  one  but  herself. 


28  THE  TORTOISE 

Then  what  was  the  use  of  thinking  of  things  that 
were  not  to  be.  Thinking  of  her  lover,  gave  her  no 
clue  to  her  husband. 

It  was  growing  warm  in  the  garden.  The  morn- 
ing had  deepened.  The  flowers  glowed.  They 
meant  nothing  to  her.  Her  eyes  skimmed  over  their 
colours  impatiently.  There  was  the  house  beyond 
at  the  end  of  the  long  lawn.  Maybe  the  house 
would  tell  her  what  she  wanted  to  know. 

Shaded  by  towering  beeches,  it  rested  cool  and 
serene,  its  many  deep  windows  open.  She  imagined 
that  she  could  see  from  where  she  stood,  into  the 
pale  dim  rooms.  Those  enclosed  spaces,  so  calm 
and  so  still,  summoned  her  to  them.  If  she  went  in 
and  walked  through  them,  they  would  tell  her  some- 
thing. Among  all  the  memories  that  filled  them, 
surely  she  would  find  her  answer.  But  possibly  she 
would  find  more  than  she  wanted  to  know,  and  pos- 
sibly something  different.  It  was  more  than  likely 
that  the  actual  question  she  asked  would  remain  un- 
answered, but  that  other  questions,  endless  questions 
would  there  annoy  her. 

They  owned  her  in  a  measure,  those  rooms.  They 
would  reflect  her  too  much  to  herself.  All  her  ges- 
tures were  caught  there  as  if  in  a  hundred  mirrors 
with  William  towering  beside  her,  filling  her  back- 
ground, wherever  she  turned,  a  silent  significant  pres- 
ence. She  saw  him  now  looking  over  her  shoulder 
into  those  imagined  mirrors  of  her  plaguing  memory. 
His  face  wore  its  white  mask  of  comedy,  but  he  bent 
his  head  down  toward  her  in  a  gesture  of  reverent 


THE  TORTOISE  29 

attention,  and  she  saw  his  hands  hover  toward  her, 
as  if  he  would  lay  them  friendly,  reverently  on  her 
shoulders.  She  dared  not  go  into  the  house. 

It  would  be  dangerous  to  submit  to  or  to  invoke 
its  influence.  The  appeal  of  a  place  one  had  made 
to  fit  round  oneself  was  deadly.  Because  she  had 
been  quiet  there,  and  safe,  was  no  reason  for  want- 
ing to  stay. 

A  maid  came  out  onto  the  balcony  before  her  bed- 
room window.  Her  crisp  white  cap  and  apron  were 
blindingly  white  in  the  sun.  She  had  a  pink  gar- 
ment over  her  arm.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  but  on  seeing  her  mistress  disappeared  quickly. 
She  must  be  unpacking.  Should  she  be  told  to  pack 
up  again?  Once  more  the  grey  suffocating  curtain 
fluttered  round  her.  She  flung  out  her  arms,  and 
dropped  them. 

"  What  would  her  husband  do  if  she  left 
him?" 

Would  he  follow  her?  —  No. —  Would  he  just 
let  her  go?  —  No.  —  Would  he  then  force  her  to 
stay?  —  No.  —  What  then?  Would  he  go  himself 
first?  Had  he  perhaps  actually  gone?  The  house 
was  hers,  not  his.  He  had  left  two  hours  ago. 
Maybe,  he  would  not  come  back?  Maybe.  —  Could 
that  possibly  be?  Good  God,  had  he  done  it  al- 
ready? 

She  found  herself  running.  At  the  door  she 
bumped  into  a  footman.  He  had  a  green  parasol  in 
his  hands. 

"  Is  it  this  you  wanted,  madam?  " 


30  THE  TORTOISE 

"  No  —  yes  —  thank  you.  " 

He  opened  the  parasol  and  handed  it  to  her. 
'  Where  is  your  master?  " 

"  He  took  the  Panhard  up  to  town  at  nine  o'clock, 
ma'am.  " 

"  Did  he  leave  any  instructions?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Did  he  say  what  time  to  expect  him?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Please  get  me  a  glass  of  water.  " 

She  thought  while  she  waited.  "  If  he  intended 
to  go  he  would  not  necessarily  have  taken  anything 
with  him.  He  has  a  set  of  things  in  town.  If  I 
order  the  Renaud  at  once  I  can  be  there  by  one 
o'clock.  " 

She  twirled  her  parasol  nervously.  It  caught  in 
one  of  the  trailing  creepers  that  hung  from  the  low 
porch.  Pulling  at  it,  she  realized  that  she  was  stupid 
and  ridiculous.  She  loosened  the  parasol  with  a 
jerk.  What  did  it  mean,  this  frantic  behaviour? 
Why  had  she  run  like  that  in  a  panic? 

If  he  had  gone,  he  had  gone  and  there  she  had 
her  solution.  She  had  intended  leaving  him  and 
had  almost  promised  in  Paris.  At  least  there  had 
been  an  undersanding,  but  it  occurred  to  her  now 
that  perhaps  the  word  understanding  was  ill-chosen. 
She  was  not  sure  of  what  she  had  given  Jocelyn  to 
understand  because  she  was  never  quite  sure  of  what 
meaning  he  attached  to  words,  and  she  was  not  really 
certain  that  he  expected  her  to  come  back.  There 
was  even  something  more.  As  the  servant  appeared 


THE  TORTOISE  31 

in  the  doorway  with  a  glass  on  a  tray,  she  found 
herself  formulating  the  phrase:  "  I  don't  quite  be- 
lieve in  him.  " 

The  thought  startled  her  with  its  ugliness  as  if  a 
toad  had  dropped  on  her  shoulder  instead  of  a  rose 
from  that  tiresome  creeper.  Her  outstretched  hand 
trembled.  She  spilled  some  of  the  water  out  of  the 
glass  that  she  lifted  to  her  lips.  The  china  blue  eyes 
of  the  groom  were  fixed  on  her  in  an  idiotic 
stare.  His  face  was  brick-red  and  he  moved  his  lips 
nervously.  The  water  was  cool  and  good.  She 
drank  it  all  and  turned  back  wearily  into  the  garden. 
If  she  didn't  trust  Jocelyn,  what  was  there  left  her 
to  do?  It  was  eleven  o'clock  by  the  sundial.  A 
blue  jay  flashed  from  one  tree  to  another.  A  pearly 
haze  hung  above  the  river  beyond  the  fields. 

She  took  the  path  that  led  to  the  orchard. 
Sweetbriar  made  a  frail  green  tunnel  for  her  to  pass 
through.  In  the  direction  of  the  stables  she  heard 
the  sound  of  splashing  water.  Hens  were  clucking 
near  by.  The  grass  in  the  orchard  was  deep  and 
the  crooked  apple  trees  dipped  their  branches  down 
into  it.  There  was  a  singing  of  insects  in  the  air. 
Everywhere  birds  twittered.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  warm  sweetness.  She  walked  through  it  feel- 
ing herself  a  cold  dead  thing  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
murmuring  life. 

Following  the  little  backwater  that  bounded  the 
orchard,  she  went  on  down  across  the  deep  bosomed 
fields  to  the  river.  She  was  a  ghost  abroad  in  the 
sunshine. 


32  THE  TORTOISE 

She  knew  now  that  William  would  come  back. 
The  thought  sent  her  flying.  She  could  not  face 
William,  and  as  if  pursued,  by  him,  yet  wanting  to 
hide  from  the  smiling  country  her  panic,  she  hurried 
smoothly,  in  a  running  walk. 

There  was  so  little  time.  She  had  meant  to  de- 
cide something.  Yet  without  a  decision  to  present 
to  him,  she  could  not  meet  him,  and  how  was  she  to 
decide  ? 

Whatever  she  did  or  said  would  be  horrible. 

If  only  she  could  get  away  by  herself  quite  alone 
for  a  little,  or  better  still,  forever.  She  must  dis- 
appear where  he  could  not  follow  her,  that  is, 
where  the  great  image  of  the  harm  she  had  done 
him  could  not  pursue  her.  Oblivion  was  her 
necessity. 

In  order  to  obtain  this,  she  must  get  rid  of  Jocelyn 
too  and  her  want  of  him.  To  be  free  from  her 
horror  she  must  be  free  from  her  longing. 

"  But  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  be  the  victim 
of  both,"  she  said  to  herself.  Why  live  any 
longer? 

She  remembered  now  the  body  of  a  woman  that 
her  farm  hands  had  fished  out  of  the  river  under 
the  bank.  It  had  been  washed  down  by  the  cur- 
rent and  had  caught  in  some  bushes.  Actually  hun- 
dreds of  people  had  been  drowned  in  the  river. 
Drowning  was  a  blank  unexpressive  form  of  death. 
One  was  sucked  down  into  death  in  a  meaningless 
vague  way.  The  water  washed  all  significance  away 
from  drowned  faces. 


THE  TORTOISE  33 

The  river  was  deep  at  the  bottom  of  the  field. 
Its  black  current  slid  by  swiftly.  She  stood  with 
her  back  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  looked  down 
into  the  water. 


Ill 


THE  Countess  of  Sidlington  said:  "  My 
poor  Brandon,  I've  come  to  lunch,  but  you 
don't  look  at  all  yourself.  "  And  droop- 
ing there  before  the  grey  butler,  she  gave  him  the 
smallest  of  smiles,  her  little  head  on  its  very  long 
throat  bent  down  to  him  under  a  phenomenally 
dipping  hat.  She  was  even  taller  than  he,  but  her 
height  was  not  imposing.  It  was  just  an  extreme 
lengthening  out  of  her  childlike  delicacy  and  it  gave 
her  in  her  excessive  thinness  an  exaggerated  charm. 

Her  appearance  was  not  merely  a  fact,  it  was  an 
apparition,  not  because  there  was  anything  sur- 
prising in  her  being  there,  but  because  she  herself 
was  surprising.  Serenely,  she  gathered  to  her  all 
the  light  there  was  in  the  dim  hall.  Her  outline 
was  a  little  too  strange  to  be  true.  Without  waist, 
without  hips,  with  sloping  disquieting  shoulders, 
there  seemed  to  be  scarce  any  corporal  connection 
between  the  small  head  on  the  wavy  neck  and  the 
long  feet  that  were  so  far  distant,  scarcely  anything 
to  hold  them  together  save  a  frothy  cascade  of  mus- 
lin and  an  intangible  grace.  Two  white  hands,  with 
cool  gestures,  were  there  to  point  out  that  she  was 
nevertheless,  all  of  a  piece. 

"  Where  is  your  mistress?  You  are  not  ill,  are 

34 


THE  TORTOISE  35 

you,  Brandon?"  The  old  man  blushed  under  her 
blue  shining  gaze. 

"  Oh  no,  my  Lady,  thank  you,  not  at  all  ill.  Mrs. 
Chudd  is  in  the  garden.  " 

His  rigid  face  became  suffused  with  a  glow  of 
pleasure,  and  as  she  floated  away  from  him  into  the 
sunlight  murmuring  that  she  would  find  his  mistress 
herself,  his  pale  eyes  followed  her. 

"  Thank  God,  her  Ladyship's  come!  "  he  said  to 
himself."  Things  aren't  as  they  should  be  in  this 
house,  and  that's  the  truth.  " 

The  merest  glimpse  of  a  small  chin  under  a  droop- 
ing hat,  the  lightest  note  of  sympathy  in  a  cool  voice 
and  the  thing  was  done.  Brandon  was  a  happier 
man.  A  spell  had  been  cast  upon  him. 

"A  very  naughty  lady"  Mayfair  said  of  her  in- 
dulgently.—  "  A  magic  lady  weaving  spells,"  some 
one  had  called  her,  but  the  mass  of  her  friends  did 
not  ask  themselves  why  they  loved  her,  or  worry 
about  forgiving  her.  She  was  just  Peggy  Sidlington 
and  they  found  no  fault  with  her. 

She  did  not  look  at  all  like  a  person  admired  over 
half  a  dozen  continents.  For  the  moment  she  looked 
just  a  nice  country  girl.  Going  into  the  sunlight 
she  became  at  once  a  part  of  the  garden.  It  wel- 
comed her.  Her  freshness  was  uncorrupted.  It 
sweetly  mocked  the  flowers.  She  took  off  her  hat, 
baring  her  narrow  little  curly  head  to  the  sun.  The 
blue  larkspur  along  the  hedge  vied  with  her  eyes  in 
blueness. 

A  gardener  sent  her  down  the  path  to  the  river. 


36  THE  TORTOISE 

He  had  seen  Mrs.  Chudd  go  that  way  an  hour  be- 
fore. She  gave  him  her  hat  to  take  back  to  the 
house  and  swept  away  from  him  across  the  grass  with 
a  long  free  movement,  lifting  her  head  to  the  sweet 
sky  where  lazy  little  white  clouds  floated. 

She  was  happy.  She  was  thinking  of  the  nicest 
man  in  the  world  who  was  coming  to  fetch  her  that 
afternoon.  But  she  was  troubled  about  Helen. 
Something  out  of  the  ordinary  she  knew  had  hap- 
pened in  Paris.  Helen  had  written  just  one  strange 
little  note  during  the  month  she  had  been  away. 

From  across  the  wide  field  that  dipped  to  the 
river  she  spied  the  white  figure  crouching  on  the 
bank.  She  waved.  There  was  no  responsive 
movement. 

Lady  Sidlington  had  erratic  perceptions.  She  was 
ignorant  of  a  great  many  things  from  choice. 
Things  that  bored  her  were  blandly  ignored.  She 
had  a  way  of  slipping  through  experiences  untouched, 
but  she  had  a  flaire  for  the  dangers  and  troubles  of 
people  she  liked.  Helen,  she  knew,  was  not  like 
herself.  Anything  that  happened  to  Helen  would 
be  something  big,  because  she  would  take  it  that 
way.  Brandon's  worried  old  face  had  impressed 
her.  She  now  connected  its  harrassed  look  with  a 
certain  queerness  in  Helen's  distant  posture.  She 
sent  out  a  strong  note  across  the  field,  halloo-ing 
through  the  funnel  of  her  hands.  She  saw  Helen 
lurch  forward  then  sideways,  and  backward,  and 
then  holding  her  breath  she  saw  with  immense  re- 
lief that  the  white  figure  was  still  there.  She  knew 


THE  TORTOISE  37 

that  she  had  expected  for  one  horrid  instant  to  see 
it  disappear. 

She  exclaimed:  "Merciful  God!"  and  ran.  She 
ran  well.  There  was  nothing  of  the  languid  attenu- 
ated doll  about  her  as  she  ran. 

"  You  needn't  have  run,  Peggy  dear,"  said  Helen 
without  so  much  as  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  stream 
that  swirled  under  the  bank. 

"  I  may  if  I  like,  I  suppose,  darling.  " 

"  Certainly,  but  it's  so  hot  this  morning.  " 

Lady  Sidlington  looked  closely  at  the  back  of  the 
golden  head  on  the  strong  broad  shoulders.  She 
was  convinced  that  her  friend  had  been  about  to 
throw  herself  into  the  river.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
mute  and  terrible  struggle  going  on  in  that  strong 
crouching  body  with  its  long  bowed  back  and  tense 
arms.  Her  own  heart  was  beating  painfully. 
There  being  however  no  further  need  for  action  and 
every  reason  for  calmness,  she  became  languid 
again,  and  drooped  beside  the  great  tree,  superla- 
tively quiet. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?  "  she  asked  sweetly. 
"  The  back  of  your  head  looks  strangely  savage.  " 

"  Don't  be  absurd.  "  Helen  turned  abruptly. 
They  stared  at  each  other.  The  eyes  of  the  woman 
on  the  ground  defended  her  secret  from  the  gaze  of 
the  woman  standing  above  her. 

"  I  came  to  lunch,  "  said  Peggy's  voice.  "  I'll  go 
away  if  you  like,  though  it  would  be  rather  unkind  of 
you  to  pack  me  off.  "  Her  eyes  said:  "Give  it  up. 
You  can't  get  away  from  me.  I'm  that  curious 


38  THE  TORTOISE 

thing  called  your  best  friend  and  I'm  making  the 
most  of  all  my  privileges.  I'm  interfering  with 
your  life  at  a  crucial  moment  and  I  mean  to  do  so." 

Presently,  it  looked  as  if  an  unseen  hand  had 
taken  Helen  by  the  scalp  and  was  shaking  her.  A 
violent  jerking  travelled  down  her  body.  Dry 
scraping  sounds  came  through  her,  choking  their 
way  out  of  her  throat  into  the  drowsy  air. 

"  Not  you,  Oh  my  dear,  not  you  of  all  people !  " 
groaned  Peggy,  swooping  down  and  gathering  the 
sobbing  body  into  her  arms.  Her  legs  crossed 
under  her,  she  held  the  violent  creature,  one  arm  tight 
round  the  shoulders,  the  other  round  the  leaping 
waist,  and  against  the  quaking  turmoil  of  her  burden 
she  opposed  her  own  rigid  quiet,  and  to  the  hurting 
noises,  her  pointed,  determined  silence. 

For  a  long  time,  she  sat  there.  The  golden  mo- 
ments of  the  humming  noon  slipped  by  one  by  one 
over  her  head.  Gradually  she  compressed  those 
sobbings  and  shakings,  little  by  little,  she  imposed 
'quiet.  The  warm  field  drowsed  behind  her.  A 
fisherman  on  the  far  bank  of  the  river  flicked  a  mi- 
nute silvery  fish  out  of  the  water.  Helen  at  last  lay 
still.  Her  hair  clung  in  a  damp  mass  to  her  head. 
Her  body  was  hot  with  the  perspiration  of  anguish. 
Peggy  Sidlington  marvelled  at  the  force  that  had 
spent  itself  in  her  arms.  She  spoke  mildly,  caress- 
ingly, coaxingly. 

"  Poor  child.  Poor  darling.  There  —  you 
mustn't,  you  know.  He's  not  worth  it.  " 

And  then,  after  a  pause : 


THE  TORTOISE  39 

"  Men  are  brutes,"  she  announced;  "  but  I  never 
thought  that  William  —  " 

Helen  freed  herself.  "  William  has  done  noth- 
ing, "  she  said  angrily. 

Again  they  stared  at  each  other.  From  each  a 
thought  travelled  through  the  eyes  to  meet  the 
other,  glanced  off  at  contact  and  darted  back  into 
hiding. 

Helen  said,  without  speaking:  "  I  refuse  to  con- 
fide in  you.  If  I  did,  you  would  have  the  upper 
hand.  You  wouldn't  betray  me,  but  I  should  hate 
you  afterwards.  "  They  sat  side  by  side  now  and 
their  parallel  gaze  travelled  across  to  the  fisherman. 

"  I  got  quite  dizzy  looking  into  the  water,  "  said 
Helen  aloud  and  laughed,  whereupon  Peggy  said  to 
herself : 

"  Helen  never  laughed  like  that  before.  She's 
different.  Something  has  done  her  harm,  she's 
the  worse  for  it.  Her  laugh  gives  her  away;  it  is 
ugly.  " 

Then  they  both  felt  tired  and  became  aware  that 
they  were  glad  to  be  together.  They  remembered 
that  they  had  been  together  as  children.  A  maze 
of  memories,  all  blurred  into  a  composite  thing  with 
a  colour  and  substance  of  its  own,  like  a  web  held 
them  together.  Their  minds  fluttered  toward  one 
another  and  brushed  each  other,  softly.  They  did 
not  want  to  hurt  each  other.  However  strange 
they  might  seem  each  to  the  other,  they  could  never 
be  strangers  and  they  were  comforted  by  this  realiza- 
tion. 


40  THE  TORTOISE 

They  leaned  nearer,  and  feeling  the  warmth  of 
the  nearness  they  obscurely  exulted  in  spite  of  the 
anguish  of  one  and  the  pity  of  the  other.  "  After 
all,  "  they  thought,"  we  are  still  young.  We  are 
fortunate.  People  love  us.  Our  power  is  un- 
limited. Most  important  of  all,  we  are  inevitable, 
we  are  women.  Whatever  we  do,  we  are  bound  to 
do.  Nothing  can  stop  us.  " 

And  above  the  harmonious  rumble  of  their  sub- 
consciousness,  Peggy's  sweet  voice  mumured: 

"  Paris  must  have  been  delicious.  Who  did  you 
see?" 

And  Helen's  voice  answered:  "  Oh,  lots  of  peo- 
ple, quite  amusing." 

"  Did  you  do  any  racing?  " 

"  Yes,  some,  " 

"Who  is  doing  what?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Yvonne  de  Cibourg  is  get- 
ting an  annulation.  She  had  just  been  to  Rome. 
Robert  de  Beauvallon,  the  blackeyed  one,  was  badly 
wounded  in  a  duel  with  that  little  white  faced  Jew, 
you  remember  the  man  I  mean.  I  saw  something  of 
the  old  fashioned  people,  and  was  taken  into  their 
fine  dingy  old  houses.  Dear  stiff  creatures  who  look 
half  frozen  on  the  sunniest  days.  Lunched  with  the 
Princess  of  Narbonne.  I  believe  she  had  been  ex- 
humed by  her  daughter  to  preside  at  the  meal.  A 
famous  beauty  of  fifty  years  ago  or  perhaps  less.  A 
very  proud  old  lady,  not  over-kind.  She  didn't  like 
me." 

"  You  mean  Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe's  mother?  " 


THE  TORTOISE  41 

The  name  fell  like  a  dart  through  the  web  of  their 
sympathy. 

"  Yes.  " 

"  Is  he  as  attractive  as  ever?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  had  never  known  him  before.  " 

They  drew  apart.  A  cord  of  suspicion  shivered 
between  them,  was  stretched  taut  and  sang  warn- 
ingly  in  their  ears. 

"  He  is  really  almost  too  seductive,  "  mused 
Peggy,  aloud.  "  He  adores  you, "  responded 
Helen  hurriedly. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear,  he  doesn't,  and  never  did,  for- 
tunately. " 

"  Why  fortunately?  " 

"  Because  he  would  have  reduced  me  to  a  little 
pulp  and  I  don't  like  any  one  having  the  upper  hand 
but  myself  in  these  matters.  He's  too  good  at  it 
—  by  far.  " 

Helen  quaked,  her  secret  leaping  to  her  mouth  for 
exit,  strangled  her.  Stiffening  her  mouth,  she  ar- 
ticulated: 

"  So  you  found  him  dangerous?  " 

Peggy  eyed  her  sideways  and  announced  in  a  dis- 
tinct dry  voice : 

"  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  heartless.  " 

Helen  felt  the  word  sink  into  her  like  a  drop  of 
poison  that  found  its  way  to  and  mingled  with  the 
doubt  of  her  own  mind's  distilling. 

She  crouched  lower,  hugging  her  sides  miserably. 
From  under  down-drawn  eyebrows  she  looked  at 
the  serene  creature  beside  her. 


42  THE  TORTOISE 

"  I  know  what  you're  thinking,"  said  the  object 
of  her  glare.  "  Just  that  I  am  the  most  so  of  any- 
body, but  you  are  wrong,  I  never  willed  to  do  any 
one  any  harm;  I  hate  doing  it.  The  gravest  accusa- 
tion against  me  is  that  I  am  too  willing  to  make 
people  happy.  " 

She  turned  her  pure  face  sweetly  round  to  be 
scrutinized  and  spoke  aloud.  "  You  know  exactly 
what  I  am.  Everybody  knows.  I'm  a  simple  harm- 
less abandoned  creature  —  and  —  I  envy  you  —  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  have  the  energy  to  take  it  so  hard.  " 

"What?" 

"  Why,  falling  in  love,  you  goose,  and  breaking 
the  seventh  commandment.  " 

"  I've  not  broken  it.  " 

"  Then  do  it  quickly,  for  pity's  sake,  and  feel  bet- 
ter, unless  of  course,  you  —  you.  " 

She  paused.  A  shadow  slipped  over  her  face  like 
a  veil.  "  Go  on,  "  muttered  Helen. 

"  Unless  you've  really  got  the  stuff  in  you  to 
stick  to  William,"  burst  out  the  exquisite  person 
rudely. 

The  coarse  phrase  startled  neither  of  them.  It 
had  its  uses.  It  saved  words.  Helen  took  it  calmly. 
She  liked  it  better  than  the  honeyed  tones  that  had 
evoked  between  them  the  man  she  wanted  to  possess 
in  her  mind  quite  alone.  Anything  was  better  than 
that  they  should  both  think  at  the  same  moment  of 
Jocelyn.  It  terrified  her  to  feel  that  his  image  was 
lodged  in  both  their  heads  simultaneously.  Hers 


THE  TORTOISE  43 

had  been  on  the  point  of  cracking,  to  reveal  him 
there,  to  those  great  disquieting  eyes. 

"  At  bottom  I'm  furious  with  you,  "  Peggy  was 
saying.  "  You  and  William  have  always  been  my 
miracle,  my  only  one.  I  used  your  happiness,  to  ex- 
orcise my  own  calamities  and  the  thought  of  your 
goodness  to  offset  my  own  failures  in  that  line.  You 
were  unique,  I  depended  on  you.  " 

"  Well,  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  unique  any  longer.  " 

"  Then  let's  go  to  lunch,  I'm  hungry.  " 

They  started  back  to  the  house,  wearily,  dragging 
behind  them  over  the  grass  the  weight  of  their  un- 
spoken thoughts.  Helen  felt  that  she  had  perhaps 
left  a  great  failure,  there  on  the  bank  of  the  river. 

The  chair  that  she  had  been  nailed  to  early  that 
morning,  was  waiting  for  them,  in  the  middle  of  the 
lawn.  They  stopped  by  it. 

"  But  you  can't  hurt  William,  you  simply  can't  do 
it,  "  burst  out  Peggy. 

Helen  stared  at  the  house  without  answering.  A 
man's  figure  appeared  under  the  porch.  Startled, 
she  held  out  an  uncertain  pointing  hand.  But  it  was 
only  Brandon,  waiting  to  announce  lunch.  So  they 
went  toward  him,  arm  linked  in  arm,  dark  head  and 
golden  head  glinting  in  the  sun. 

People  often  said  that  they  went  about  together  be- 
cause they  set  each  other  off  to  such  excellent  ad- 
vantage. 

"  As  for  me,  "  Peggy  was  saying  lightly,  "  I  be- 
lieve I  shall  settle  down.  I  have  found  the  very 
nicest  man  in  the  world.  " 


IV 


A  GROUP  of  men  shut  up  in  a  room  in  Lon- 
don with  the  harassing  news  from  Eastern 
Europe  were  waiting  for  William  Chudd. 
He  entered  the  roaring  hum  of  the  city  at  eleven 
o'clock.  June  sunshine  was  tickling  the  monster. 
The  crowds  were  happy.  A  million  windows  glit- 
tered. The  bright  frocks  of  the  women  were  like 
petals  floating  loose  from  the  flower  stalks  in  the 
squares.  The  lazy  people  in  the  sleek  motors  and 
the  brisk  pedestrians  on  the  pavement  smiled  at  each 
other.  Balloons  bobbed  above  children's  heads  in 
the  park.  No  one  noticed  the  long  grey  car  that 
made  like  a  needle  following  a  magnet  for  the  grim 
spot  in  Whitehall  where  frightened  men  sat  round 
a  table. 

The  men  in  the  room  knew  something  that  they 
were  hiding  from  the  crowd  in  the  streets.  Their 
knowledge  gave  them  the  look  of  nervous  prisoners. 
They  were  condemned  men,  responsible  for  the  ex- 
ulting mass  of  free  human  beings  outside.  Together, 
they  turned  to  Chudd  as  he  entered,  expecting  help 
from  his  presence.  Collectively  they  tossed  to  him 
with  a  gesture  of  irritable  appeal  the  news  from 
Austria  that  was  but  the  serious  confirmation  of 
their  fear  of  the  day  before.  They  were  greeted  by 
a  weary  blink  of  his  eyes  and  a  scarcely  audible  yet 

gigantic  sigh. 

44 


THE  TORTOISE  45 

Then,  while  they  waited  for  him  to  speak  and 
help  them,  he  lowered  himself  in  a  chair,  put  his 
hands  on  his  knees  and  seemed  to  go  to  sleep  staring 
at  their  exasperated  faces  as  if  they  were  so  many 
sheep,  he  was  counting  in  a  dream. 

They  knew  they  were  not  sheep,  The  country 
had  called  them  its  leaders.  Portions  of  the  country 
named  them  statesmen.  On  ordinary  mornings  they 
were  accustomed  to  consider  themselves  more  than 
ordinary  men,  but  today,  the  immense  menace  of  the 
extraordinary  had  diminished  their  sense  of  them- 
selves and  they  were  uncomfortable  at  being  looked 
at  as  sheep  by  those  formidable  eyes. 

Eastern  Europe  was  large  enough  to  swallow  up 
a  hundred  thousand  two-legged  creatures  like  them- 
selves and  show  no  sign  of  difference.  They  were 
a  dozen  and  they  felt  the  hot  glare  of  such  a  place  in 
conflagration  and  cowered  before  the  distant  heat. 
If  each  one  threw  on  the  blaze  a  bucket  of  water,  the 
result  would  be  scarcely  remarkable.  W.  B.  Chudd 
was  bigger  than  any  of  them.  He  could  carry  an 
enormous  bucket.  They  had  superstitiously  hoped 
that  he  would  do  something  gigantic. 

He  appeared  unaware  of  their  misery  or  their 
superstitions.  At  the  word  "  war  ",  he  raised  his 
hand  to  his  forehead  that  was  beaded  with  perspira- 
tion, fumbled  for  his  handkerchief,  did  not  find  it, 
gave  up  the  idea  of  mopping  his  head  and  assumed 
an  even  greater  immobility. 

When  asked  a  point-blank  question  he  answered  in 
a  monosyllable  or  cited  a  few  figures  in  a  small  voice 


46  THE  TORTOISE 

that  echoed  uncannily  through  the  empty  spaces  of 
their  undocumented  subject.  The  murdered  Arch 
Duke,  rising  among  them  in  all  his  ghostliness,  would 
have  given  them  more  satisfaction.  They  became 
annoyed  with  Chudd.  They  knew  that  he  could  not 
be  drunk.  If  this  were  softening  of  the  brain,  then, 
he  ought  to  have  warned  them  long  ago.  Brains 
don't  soften  overnight.  He  had  been  unscrupulous 
in  allowing  them  to  depend  on  him,  if  he  knew  his  was 
giving  way. 

Some  of  them,  those  who  knew  him  best,  were 
made  particularly  uneasy  by  his  sleepiness.  They 
remembered  other  days  when  he  had  dozed  in  their 
midst  refusing  to  speak,  his  face  as  expressionless  as 
a  plate.  The  Government  calendar  bore  a  red 
mark  on  each  one  of  those  days.  His  silence  had 
preceded  his  thunderbolts.  Now  they  wondered 
whether  they  were  to  understand  his  great  positive 
stillness  as  a  guarantee  of  security;  or  a  menace  of 
even  greater  danger  than  they  imagined.  Did  he 
really  feel  safe  or  was  his  brutal  indifference  his  way 
of  meeting  the  earthquake  that  was  about  to  engulf 
them?  The  telegrams  they  kept  opening,  the  tele- 
phones that  squealed  in  their  ears,  the  harassed  secre- 
taries who  came  and  went  with  bundles  of  papers, 
produced  on  his  surface  no  flicker  of  interest.  The 
tears  of  a  dusky  little  ambassador  drew  no  word  from 
his  wide  closed  lips. 

Did  he  know  something  that  none  of  them  knew? 

They  buttonholed  each  other  in  corners  of  the 
dismal  chamber,  before  separating  for  the  enticing 


THE  TORTOISE  47 

relief  of  lunch  and  asked  one  another  what  was  up. 
One  of  them  at  last  approached  him  where  he  still 
sat  like  a  lonely  Buddha  before  the  littered  table. 

"  Look  here,  W.  B.  C.  do  you  know  something  in- 
teresting or  are  you  really  sleepy?" 

The  big  man  gave  the  slightest  sign  of  recogniz- 
ing the  other's  presence,  a  faint  flutter  of  the  eye- 
lids. 

"  Leave  me  alone  till  tomorrow,"  he  replied. 

"  You  mean  you'll  have  no  opinion  till  to- 
morrow? " 

"  Exactly.  " 

And  that  was  all  anyone  got  out  of  him.  He  re- 
fused to  lunch.  They  were  obliged  to  leave  him 
seated  there.  No  one  knew  how  long  he  stayed,  but 
he  was  gone  when  they  came  back.  Downing 
Street  did  not  see  him.  He  did  not  stop  there;  it 
was  a  hundred  yards  out  of  his  way. 

His  way  led  him  back  now  to  the  place  where  he 
had  left  Helen.  He  had  made  a  wide  loop  away 
from  the  place  in  order  to  leave  her  alone.  For  her 
sake  he  had  travelled  all  day  in  empty  space,  like  an 
aviator  looping  in  a  blank  sky.  He  had  started 
slowly,  he  was  ending  his  circle  swiftly.  The  most 
difficult  part  had  been  when  he  had  poised  motion- 
less, and  had  been  annoyed  by  the  semblance  of  men 
and  the  illusion  of  voices  calling  at  him  the  word 
war.  From  the  hard  height  of  his  solitude  he  had 
heard  and  seen  them,  nervous  pigmies  agitating  hor- 
rified hands  that  would  have  dragged  him  into  their 
midst,  if  they  could  have  reached  them. 


48  THE  TORTOISE 

He  knew  that  tomorrow  he  would  find  himself 
down  among  them,  weighted  to  the  earth  that  was 
quaking.  Tomorrow  Austria  and  Serbia  would 
stare  at  him  out  of  the  map  and  he  would  have  to 
consider  the  relative  solidity  of  the  British  Isles 
anchored  off  the  edge  of  a  shaking  Europe,  but  to- 
day he  remained  in  the  void  that  Helen  had  created. 

He  neared  the  ground.  Approaching  the  spot 
from  which  he  had  leaped,  his  senses  registered  defi- 
nite jolts  of  pain.  He  realized  that  he  would  in  a 
few  moments  find  her  actually  there,  or  actually 
gone.  His  eyes  and  his  nerves  would  prove  her 
presence  or  touch  the  substance  of  her  absence.  Pos- 
itive knowledge  was  rushing  to  meet  him. 

The  leaping  of  the  motor  car  under  him,  the  taut 
desperate  leaping  ahead  of  that  thing  of  steel  that 
he  was  urging  into  incredible  speed,  seemed  but  a 
mild  straining  compared  to  the  bursting  strain  of  his 
heart  valves.  He  saw  the  world  stream  past  in 
ribbons.  He  was  aware  of  the  country  as  a  thing  of 
tattered  streamers.  He  tore  through  it,  scattering 
it  behind  him. 

Would  she  be  there?  Had  she  gone?  Was  he 
already  alone  forever? 

The  scratching  shriek  of  his  klaxon  sounded  to 
him  like  the  voice  of  his  own  torment.  He  felt  sure 
that  if  he  opened  his  mouth  a  sound  would  spring 
out  of  it,  quite  equally  hideous. 

Her  physical  being  flew  beside  him,  crowding  close, 
a  thing  with  wings  that  kept  pace  with  the  headlong 
motor.  He  saw  her  there  in  the  air,  her  head  out 


THE  TORTOISE  49 

to  the  wind,  her  hair  streaming  behind  her  like  a 
golden  flame.  He  marvelled  at  the  vitality  of  her 
hair  that  seemed  to  send  off  sparks  in  the  sunlight, 
and  that  as  he  remembered  shone  in  the  dimness  of 
her  room  with  a  light  of  its  own.  Her  hair  in  whose 
meshes  she  had  once  or  twice  allowed  him  to  bury 
his  face,  he  felt  it  now  shading  his  cheeks.  Her 
strong  body  clove  the  air  with  him,  the  aroma  of  her 
flesh  was  in  his  nostrils.  She  was  a  mermaid  of  the 
air,  swimming  swiftly  without  moving  her  cold  arms 
that  were  laid  back  along  her  sides,  or  her  white  feet 
that  pointed  back  to  the  rushing  space  they  left  be- 
hind them. 

She  was  outdistancing  him.  He  quickened  his 
speed.  Their  headlong  course  became  a  race,  then 
a  pursuit.  A  long  hill  rose  before  him,  the  white 
road  like  a  pole  perpendicular  to  his  eyes.  He 
mounted  it,  losing  ground.  She  shot  ahead  of  him. 
He  saw  her  disappear  like  a  silver  flying  fish,  across 
the  skyline.  Reaching  the  top  he  found  himself 
alone  under  white  clouds  on  wide  sunstreaked  downs. 
Plunging  again  into  the  next  familiar  valley,  chil- 
dren in  a  pony  cart  shrieked  with  fright  as  he  grazed 
past  them. 

Their  shrill  voices  punctured  his  obsession,  bring- 
ing him  down  to  the  reality  of  a  twisting  road  and 
cottages.  But  he  was  by  this  time  seized  with  panic. 
He  felt  sure  that  she  had  gone.  His  hallucination 
seemed  to  him  a  message. 

He  recognized  the  iron  gates  of  the  Sidlington's 
place.  Through  the  bars  he  imagined  Peggy's  baby 


5o  THE  TORTOISE 

face  mocking  him.  Five  miles  further  on  the  gates 
of  his  home  waited  to  introduce  him  to  the  haunted 
abandoned  place  that  he  knew  best  on  the  earth. 

He  settled  down  to  the  prospect  of  a  deserted 
house.  In  order  to  make  the  reality  less  horrible, 
he  summoned  it  to  meet  him.  "  Her  room,  "  he 
said  to  himself.  "  will  be  bare  of  her  little  things, 
her  toilet  set  will  be  gone  from  the  dressing  table  by 
the  window.  The  gold  slippers  with  green  heels  will 
not  be  beside  the  '  chaise-longue  '.  The  miniatures 
of  her  father  and  mother  will  not  be  on  the  table. 
The  bed  will  remain,  with  its  smooth  lace  coverlet, 
and  the  chairs  and  the  cushions  and  the  white  bear 
skin  on  the  floor.  The  perfume  she  uses  will  still 
float  there  in  the  room,  but,  she  will  be  gone.  If  I 
seal  up  the  doors  and  windows  the  place  will  keep  its 
scent  perhaps  for  a  long  time,  but  she  will  be  gone 
and  will  never  come  back.  " 

He  asked  himself  then  why  he  had  let  her  escape. 
He  felt  obscurely  that  he  was  to  blame.  He  had 
won  her  after  a  struggle.  With  a  blaze  of  trumpets 
and  to  the  flash  of  lightning  he  had  carried  her  off. 
He  had  captured  her  in  a  storm  of  his  own  making. 
Now  he  wondered  whether  he  had  committed  a  crime 
in  so  doing.  He  had  a  picture  of  himself  running 
through  a  tempest  with  her  in  his  arms,  cold  as  a 
stone.  In  those  days  he  had  not  been  afraid.  He 
had  grown  gradually  afraid.  Now  he  knew  why. 

Their  companionship  that  he  had  thought  a 
wonderful  thing  dwindled  now  in  his  memory  to  a 
mean  makeshift.  He  realized  that  he  had  been 


THE  TORTOISE  51 

waiting  all  that  time  for  something  better.  Her 
kindness  had  made  it  possible  for  him  to  deceive 
himself.  He  had  done  so. 

He  had  been  stupid.  He  had  continued  to  hope. 
He  had  refused  to  admit  that  he  was  incapable  of 
winning  her  completely.  He  had  been  guilty  of 
laying  siege  to  the  self  she  had  closed  from  him. 

Because  she  had  been  interested  in  his  career  he 
had  resisted  the  longing  to  concentrate  all  his  at- 
tention upon  her.  Because  he  had  thought  that 
she  admired  power,  he  had  gained  greater  power. 
He  had  succeeded  in  translating  political  ideas  into 
national  acts.  England  as  it  is  today,  owed 
something  of  its  personality  to  him,  but  he  had  done 
it  for  her  and  he  had  failed  to  touch  her  imagination. 
She  had  destroyed  in  him  the  passion  of  work  for  its 
own  sake.  What  he  had  dreamt  of  doing  he  had 
done,  and  this,  without  joy,  because  it  gave  him  no 
added  nobility  in  her  eyes.  His  effort  had  been  for 
nothing. 

Everything  had  been  for  nothing. 

He  might  better  have  followed  his  inclination.  If 
he  had  stayed  beside  her  constantly,  done  nothing 
but  accompany  her,  watch  her,  enjoy  her,  he  would 
have  lost  her  no  more  completely  and  he  would  have 
had  more  hours  with  her  to  remember.  She  might 
have  left  him  sooner,  a  little  sooner  perhaps  — 
that  was  all. 

But  if  he  had  never  let  her  out  of  his  sight,  how 
could  she  have  gone?  No  one  could  have  ap- 
proached her. 


52  THE  TORTOISE 

He  ought  to  have  put  her  in  chains.  He  ought 
to  have  taken  her  to  the  wilderness  and  have  lashed 
her  to  a  rock  and  have  spent  his  life  at  her  feet  mo- 
tionless. 

He  had  done  none  of  these  things  because  he  had 
cared  so  much  for  her  happiness.  Day  after  day, 
year  after  year  he  had  continued  to  hope  that  she 
would  be  happy.  He  had  worked  for  this.  His 
efforts  had  been  futile. 

Yet  sometimes,  he  had  thought  she  was  happy. 
He  remembered  days  when  her  face  was  alight. 
He  remembered  hours  when —  But  he  must  have 
been  mistaken. 

He  remembered  now  what  a  rare  thing  it  was  for 
her  to  laugh.  He  did  not  remember  her  ever  hav- 
ing laughed  when  with  him  alone.  The  very  in- 
tensity of  his  will  to  make  her  happy  must  have 
blighted  her  gaiety.  He  imagined  now  that  she  had 
always  been  subdued  and  restrained  in  his  presence. 
He  had  weighed  on  her.  He  had  depressed  her. 
It  was  possible  that  he  was  repulsive  to  her. 

The  strength  went  suddenly  out  of  his  hands. 
The  car  swerved.  He  could  no  longer  feel  the 
wheel  in  his  fingers.  Flinging  himself  forward  with 
numb  arms  hugging  the  thing,  he  brought  it  back  in- 
to the  centre  of  the  road. 

Shame  —  Ah  the  shame,  the  humiliation,  the 
self-disgust,  the  loathing!  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  was  swallowing  dust  mixed  with  grease.  His 
eyes  smarted  horribly.  He  could  scarcely  see  the 
road  and  the  trees  on  either  side.  Fool  that  he  was. 


THE  TORTOISE  53 

Why  had  he  not  thought  of  that  before,  why  had  he 
not  known?  He  was  fat,  he  was  white,  he  was 
clumsy.  He  was  a  buffoon.  He  was  fashioned  by 
God  to  make  a  nation  stare  and  a  government  trem- 
ble. He  was  a  mountain  of  unpleasant  flesh.  Why 
had  he  never  seen  himself  as  she  must  have  always 
seen  him?  He  had  never  once  looked  at  himself. 
He  had  been  far  too  intent  upon  her,  yet,  if  she  had 
shuddered,  if  the  shadow  of  his  ugliness  had  passed 
over  her,  would  he  not  have  seen  it  there?  Was 
his  own  desire  such  a  blind  and  stupid  thing  that 
it  made  him  insensible  to  her  distaste.  Surely  that 
could  not  be.  He  had  studied  her.  He  had  studied 
her  breathing,  the  lifting  of  her  eyelids,  the  dilation 
of  her  nostrils,  the  changing  curves  of  her  lips,  the 
infinite  variety  of  her  sensitive  hands.  How 
could  he  not  have  noticed  he  who  knew  what  all  these 
things  meant?  When  he  kissed  her  hands,  could  he 
have  been  unaware,  had  a  shudder  gone  through 
her?  No,  no!  He  must  have  known  —  unless - 
Ah,  yes  —  unless  she  had  matched  his  exquisite  scru- 
tiny with  as  exquisite  a  deceit. 

He  cowered  in  his  seat,  wanting  to  hide  ashamed 
as  if  he  had  discovered  himself  driving  naked 
through  the  country.  Shame  was  new  to  him.  He 
could  not  cope  with  the  sickening  feeling.  His  face 
streamed  with  sweat.  He  felt  it  sticky  and  tight. 
Waves  of  nausea  rose  to  his  mouth. 

The  children  of  his  own  village  waved  to  him. 
They  did  not  know.  They  did  not  see  that  he  was 
a  changed  and  humiliated  man.  He  crossed  the 


54  THE  TORTOISE 

bridge  beyond  the  post  office.  A  white  swan  floated 
on  the  slow  stream  where  golden  clouds  were  mir- 
rored. His  gate  was  open.  In  another  moment  he 
was  past  the  lodge,  with  the  sun  in  his  eyes.  Then 
the  house  came  serenely  into  view  its  long  facade  in 
shadow  and  a  golden  sky  glowing  behind  its  rosy 
gables.  His  dogs  rushed  to  meet  him.  Neither  the 
fox,  nor  the  skye,  nor  the  hound  had  his  tail  between 
his  legs.  They  knew  no  shame.  They  would  never 
realize. 

The  distance  between  the  step  of  the  motor  and 
the  front  door  was  very  great.  It  was  a  difficult 
distance.  He  was  not  sure  that  he  could  cross  it. 
It  was  the  last  lap  of  the  region  of  uncertainty  that 
seemed  to  him  after  all,  a  blessed  region.  The  door 
of  the  house  threatened  him.  It  was  about  to 
open  and  let  out  the  truth  and  like  a  deadly  oracle 
it  would  condemn  him.  He  quailed,  he  half  turned 
to  go  back,  the  door  opened. 

"  Mrs.  Chudd  is  in  the  garden,  sir,"  said  Brandon 
at  the  door. 


THE  sound  that  crashed  out  of  him  had 
frightened  Brandon.  It  was  nothing  more 
than  the  sound  of  his  relief,  but  it  had  con- 
vinced the  butler  that  his  master  was  drunk.  The 
incident  had  been  to  Chudd  just  another  proof  of 
the  fact  that  whenever  he  made  a  sound  or  gesture 
without  holding  down  on  it  beforehand,  he  fright- 
ened some  one. 

It  was  more  important  than  ever  not  to  frighten 
Helen  now,  so  he  tiptoed  up  to  his  room  to  prepare 
to  meet  her.  He  washed  timidly,  afraid  of  smash- 
ing glass  bottles  in  his  nervous  hands.  He  must 
be  calm  when  he  went  to  her. 

As  the  horrid  sweat  disappeared  from  his  face, 
he  whispered. 

"  She's  not  gone  —  she's  not  gone." 

He  told  himself  that  everything  he  had  thought 
on  his  way  from  town  had  been  idiotic. 

If  she  had  hated  him,  she  would  not  have  stayed. 
Her  being  there  was  a  proof  of  his  own  foolishness. 

He  imagined  her,  as  he  had  left  her.  She  was 
waiting  for  him  to  release  her  from  her  suspense. 
He  would  do  it,  oh  so  gently.  He  would  bow  down 
to  her  from  a  distance,  in  silence.  She  should  not 
be  frightened. 

55 


56  THE  TORTOISE 

Brushing  his  hair,  he  muttered  that  it  was  a  lucky 
thing  for  the  country.  Tomorrow  he  would  throw 
himself  into  the  national  difficulty.  He  would  tell 
them  to  prepare  for  war  and  make  them  act.  Helen 
would  never  know  how  near  she  had  been  to  helping 
on  the  ruin  of  her  people. 

It  now  remained  to  separate  truth  from  night- 
mare. 

She  was  there  waiting  in  the  garden,  but  she  was 
not  the  same.  He  must  wait  to  appreciate  the  dif- 
ference. Somehow  they  must  work  it  out  between 
them.  He  still  hoped  for  her  happiness. 

The  afternoon  sun  gave  the  garden  an  unreal 
splendour.  The  leaves  on  the  trees  showed  trans- 
lucent against  the  golden  rays,  like  slivers  of  precious 
metal.  The  flowers  glinted,  and  the  people  in  the 
distance  were  ethereal  beings  whose  garments  were 
clouds  of  rainbow  light. 

He  had  believed  she  would  be  gone,  he  had  even 
thought  he  might  find  her  dead.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  come  on  her  giving  tea  to  a 
lot  of  people  by  the  lily  pond. 

He  stood,  fascinated,  slowly  taking  in  the  mean- 
ing of  the  charming  abhorrent  group. 

The  magic  light  showed  them  to  him,  as  if  the 
group  were  embedded  in  a  crystal  globe  and  he  were 
outside  looking  into  it.  If  he  took  a  hammer  he 
could  smash  it  to  shivers.  He  had  a  vision  of  the 
actual  possible  destruction  of  them  all  and  of  the 
place  they  decorated.  Their  safety  seemed  to  him 
the  thinnest  covering  of  glass.  He  remembered  the 


THE  TORTOISE  57 

word  war  that  he  had  heard  so  often  that  morning. 
But  all  of  this  only  annoyed  the  surface  of  his  mind. 

War,  spreading  like  a  prairie  fire  over  Europe  and 
the  flames  of  it  leaping  across  to  lick  at  the  greenness 
of  England,  this  he  could  and  had  envisaged  without 
difficulty.  He  hadn't  strangled  over  it,  he  had  fast- 
ened on  to  it.  It  was  there  now  in  his  brain  a  con- 
viction to  be  acted  upon  later,  but  it  must  wait.  It 
was  not  half  so  incredible  as  this  other  thing  that 
loomed  before  him,  and  God  forgive  him,  not  half 
so  terrible.  If  his  reason  were  rocking,  it  was  be- 
cause the  little  innermost  spring  of  his  being  had 
been  set  whirling  backwards.  A  white  finger  had 
poked  its  way  in  and  had  set  it  buzzing  backward, 
and  the  immediate  result  in  sensation  was  a  giddi- 
ness that  distorted  his  eyesight.  He  felt  that  he 
must  have  become  suddenly  crosseyed,  for  the  gar- 
den danced  and  zigzagged  before  him  and  he  had  a 
feeling  of  wanting  to  look  at  it  sideways  to  keep  it 
in  focus.  It  would  be  horrid  to  see  Helen  jiggling 
about  before  him.  What  postures  might  she  not 
make. 

Yet  it  was  necessary  to  look,  it  was  necessary  to 
scrutinize. 

There  she  was  surrounded  by  figures  in  draperies, 
cloudy  petticoats,  filmy  sleeves,  shiny  parasols,  dip- 
ping hats,  white  flannelled  legs,  tweed  jackets. 
There  she  was,  she  was  not  dead,  she  had  not  gone, 
no,  she  was  pouring  tea.  Her  long  arm  in  its  white 
sleeve  was  lifting  a  silver  tea  kettle.  Her  round 
golden  head  was  bent  slightly.  He  believed  that 


58  THE  TORTOISE 

even  at  this  distance  he  could  detect  a  smile  curving 
her  lips.  She  was  unaware  of  his  presence  and  at 
ease  among  her  submissive  friends. 

Had  he  dreamt  it  all? 

There  was  a  mauve  girl  at  the  tea  table  drinking 
lemonade  through  a  straw.  A  pink  creature  was 
on  the  grass  leaning  against  a  tree  trunk.  Some 
one  was  holding  a  cherry  coloured  parasol  against 
the  sun.  A  bull  harassed  by  picadors  with  their 
nasty  coloured  rags  could  feel  no  more  frantic  than 
he  at  those  colours.  Vaguely  and  irritably  he  waved 
his  hands  before  his  face,  as  if  to  brush  them  away, 
out  of  sight.  How  could  he  see  her,  how  could  he 
find  out  anything  about  her  with  all  those  things 
round  her? 

A  wave  of  heat  engulfed  him,  as  if  the  door  of  a 
furnace  had  been  suddenly  opened  in  his  face,  but 
the  furnace  he  knew  was  inside  him  and  the  furious 
hot  sensation  was  merely  the  sign  to  him  of  his  own 
anger.  He  waited  for  it  to  subside. 

He  had  left  her  to  make  up  her  mind.  What  had 
she  decided?  Was  this  her  reply  to  the  question  he 
would  never  put  to  her?  If  so,  what  did  it  mean? 
How  could  he  be  supposed  to  interpret  it?  Was  he 
never  to  know  what  she  thought? 

Would  she  never  face  him?  Why  should  she 
barricade  herself  behind  fools?  What  was  the  use 
of  his  years  of  self  denial  if  his  respect  for  her  in- 
violate and  sacred  solitude  was  not  enough  to  con- 
vince her  of  her  safety  with  him? 

Was  it  all  wasted,  the  terrible  continued  restraint 


THE  TORTOISE  59 

that  had  cost  him  more  energy  than  all  his  public 
activity?  Was  the  manhood  in  him  that  he  had 
burned  up  and  consumed  within  himself  for  years, 
was  all  that  precious  power  that  he  had  gone  on 
pouring  into  the  abyss  of  his  longing,  was  that  not 
even  enough  to  command  her  respect? 

She  was  making  fun  of  him  as  truly  as  if  she  had 
told  them  all  about  it  and  was  laughing  at  him  with 
them. 

She  had  no  inkling  of  what  it  all  meant.  She 
had  no  memory.  She  was  perhaps  after  all  not  a 
human  being.  If  she  had  had  any  inkling  of  what 
it  all  meant  she  would  not  have  insulted  them  both 
by  the  presence  of  outsiders.  If  she  had  had  any 
memory,  she  would  have  remembered  that  never 
once  had  he  approached  her,  except  at  her  bidding, 
or  with  her  permission.  If  she  were  human,  she 
would  have  taken  pity  on  his  ugly  anguish. 

She  seemed  to  expect  him  to  endure  his  loneliness 
with  the  sight  of  her  before  his  eyes  to  mock  him. 
No,  he  could  not  endure  it.  No,  he  would  not.  He 
would  rather  wring  the  necks  of  each  one  of  those 
women.  He  would  rather  break  the  backs  of  each 
one  of  those  men.  He  must  know.  He  must  have 
her  secret,  her  soul,  herself.  He  would  have  it,  if 
he  had  to  horsewhip  her.  He  would  strip  her  naked 
and  beat  her  —  he  — 

His  mind  stopped  short.  He  saw  her  rise  to  her 
feet.  Her  white  figure  with  its  golden  crown  was 
straight  as  a  taper  against  the  green  distance.  He 
gazed  upon  her  spellbound  a  moment,  gasping,  va- 


60  THE  TORTOISE 

cant,  then  with  a  groan  went  toward  her.  She  was 
the  same,  good  God.  She  had  the  same  power. 
Her  beauty  meant  the  same  thing  to  him. 

11  Here's  W.  B.  at  last." 

"  Hello,  Bill,  what's  the  news?  " 

"  Billy  dear,  come  here  beside  me  on  the  grass, 
it's  safer  than  a  chair." 

'  We've  been  talking  geography.  No  one  knows 
quite  where  Serbia  is." 

"  It's  so  beastly  far,  you  know." 

"  You  tell  us,  W.  B.,  we're  ready  to  learn." 

Their  voices  buzzed  round  his  ears  like  bothering 
insects  but  with  a  sensation  of  plunging  through 
them,  his  head  down,  he  made  straight  for  Helen, 
and  there,  within  a  foot  of  her,  he  came  to  a  stand- 
still, abruptly,  making  an  effort  not  to  fall  on  her 
and  crush  her,  astonished  at  the  coolness  of  her 
face  that  received  what  he  felt  was  his  onrush.  She 
looked  him  in  the  eyes,  without  speaking.  The  sun 
met  her  gaze,  turning  her  eyes  to  amber,  and  dimin- 
ishing their  black  pupils  to  pin  points.  They 
dazzled  him.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  into  wells 
of  fire.  He  blinked. 

"  You've  seen  her  before,  you  know,  Billy,"  said 
a  sly  female  voice.  "  She's  your  wife." 

He  wheeled  as  if  stung,  and  felt  the  light  waves 
of  their  laughter  roaring  and  beating  in  his  ears. 

He  must  keep  still,  very  still,  so  as  not  to  hurt 
any  of  them.  He  half  closed  his  eyes. 

"  You're  too  big,  William,  you  shut  out  all  the 
breeze,"  said  Peggy  from  the  grass. 


THE  TORTOISE  61 

"  You're  an  impertinent  little  thing,"  he  heard 
himself  reply.  He  had  always  liked  Peggy,  why  had 
she  come  to  torment  him?  If  she  knew  she  would 
go  away. 

It  occurred  to  him  a  moment  later  as  he  loomed 
there  in  their  midst,  that  they  were  friends,  his  as 
well  as  Helen's.  This  fact  was  astonishing  some- 
how. His  first  view  of  them  had  refused  them  any 
individuality  or  humanity.  Now  he  saw  them  fa- 
miliarly and  their  familiarity  frightened  him,  for  he 
remembered  that  they  knew  him  only  a  little  less 
well  than  he  knew  them,  and  he  wanted  no  one  to 
know  him  any  more.  If  they  turned  their  easy  ban- 
ter upon  him  and  Helen  he  would  pull  the  sky  down 
onto  their  heads  and  bury  them  alive,  every  one  of 
them  —  Millicent  with  her  amethyst  earrings  dan- 
gling above  her  mauve  frock,  Mary  Bridge  with  her 
cherry  parasol,  Peggy  with  her  big  baby  eyes,  he'd 
spare  none  of  them  if  they  showed  the  least  sign  of 
suspecting  anything.  Let  them  not  suppose  be- 
cause they'd  no  secrets  and  no  shame,  that  he  would 
allow  them  to  let  their  curiosity  play  upon  Helen. 
As  for  the  men  they  were  easier  to  deal  with.  The 
men  were  after  all  men,  more  or  less  like  himself. 
It  had  never  been  necessary  to  point  out  to  them 
the  difference  between  Helen  and  the  other  women 
they  loved  so  gaily.  He  had  been  willing  for  them 
to  look  at  her  from  a  distance  and  no  one  of  them 
had  ever  infringed  on  the  liberty  granted  him.  For 
ten  years  they  had  respected  his  attitude  toward  his 
wife.  It  had,  he  realized  now,  been  one  of  his  fixed 


62  THE  TORTOISE 

ideas,  that  their  world,  his  and  hers  should  admit 
their  uniqueness.  Happy  and  healthy,  changing 
loves  with  the  seasons,  taking  no  trouble  to  dissimu- 
late their  passions  and  their  raptures,  they  were 
pleasant  beings,  who  still  had  enough  sense  to  recog- 
nize that  his  house  was  different  from  their  caravan- 
saries. 

He  had  liked  them  for  respecting  his  idea.  They 
were  gentlemen  and  that  gave  one  something  to  go 
on,  but  he  would  sacrifice  all  and  each  one  of  them 
if  he  gave  the  flicker  of  a  sign  of  comprehending  a 
difference  between  today  and  yesterday.  Even 
Jimmy  Gower,  the  faithful,  never  tiresome,  always 
appreciative,  would  walk  out  of  that  house  for  ever 
did  he  seem  to  begin  to  see  anything.  After  all, 
it  was  only  Jimmy  who  would  be  likely  to  see,  the 
others  were  too  stupid  or  too  absorbed  in  Peggy 
to  notice. 

Suspiciously,  he  looked  from  one  to  another,  and 
he  found  their  eyes  fixed  on  him.  Was  it  possible 
that  they  were  innocent?  Could  it  be  that  his  rolls 
of  fat  concealed  his  quaking  nerves  from  their  gaze? 
How  was  one  to  tell  in  the  midst  of  such  well  bred 
creatures?  Their  faces  were  disciplined  to  betray 
nothing.  To  flaunt  their  own  caprices  in  the  face 
of  the  world  and  to  turn  a  blank  stare  back  on  all 
things  disagreeable,  that  was  their  way. 

He  became  aware  of  her  hand  holding  out  to  him 
a  cup  of  tea  and  he  took  the  cup  carefully,  conscious 
of  the  dangerous  fleeting  proximity  of  those  brown 
tapering  fingers  that  curled  nervously  round  the 


THE  TORTOISE  63 

saucer.  They  realized  it  and  vanished  from  his  line 
of  vision  leaving  him  staring  at  his  own  great  flabby 
paw  that  he  loathed. 

Truly  the  marriage  of  those  two  hands  was  an 
outrage.  The  image  of  his,  wide  white  and  soft 
beside  her  slim  palm  revolted  him. 

"  Other  men  who  are  ugly,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self, "  are  ugly  in  moderation,  but  there  is  so  much 
of  me,  so  much,  too  much."  He  had  a  feeling  of 
lurching  as  he  turned  off  with  his  cup. 

"  Tell  us  something,"  said  some  one. 

"  About  Ireland." 

"  Or  about  Servia." 

"  Isn't  it  bounded  on  the  north  by  the  Danube?  " 

"What  was  said  in  Downing  Street?" 

There  was  a  pause.  They  waited  for  an  answer 
to  that. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  muttered. 

"What?" 

"  I  didn't  go  to  Downing  Street." 

"  Bill  darling,  you  mustn't  tell  lies,"  breathed 
Millicent. 

Why  in  God's  name  wouldn't  they  leave  him  alone? 

He  did  not  want  to  talk.  He  wanted  to  stare  at 
Helen  and  find  out  from  her  face  what  had  hap- 
pened since  he  had  left  her.  If  he  kept  his  eyes  on 
her,  he  would  be  sure  to  catch  something.  Sooner 
or  later  she  would  betray  herself.  Her  face  looked 
the  same.  Its  outline  was  as  clear  as  ever  and  the 
firm  clear  features  maintained  their  strange  har- 
mony. It  would  take  a  long  time  for  that  face  to 


64  THE  TORTOISE 

change.  Its  surface  would  not  willingly  betray  her, 
neither  would  it  easily  take  on  the  imprint  of  time. 
After  all,  it  was  hopeless  looking  at  her.  Looking 
always  blinded  him.  The  curious  contrast  between 
the  pale  crinkled  gold  of  her  hair  and  the  darker, 
almost  copper,  tint  of  her  face  was  distracting  his 
attention  from  his  search.  In  that  darkly  glowing 
oval,  her  teeth  were  like  pointed  diamonds.  She 
was  not  sallow,  but  she  was  brown,  and  her  cheeks 
were  smooth  and  firm  and  all  one  perfect  tint;  an 
indescribably  close,  fine  surface.  Her  jaw  was 
strong,  her  forehead  low.  It  was  the  lifted  arch 
in  the  upper  lip  that  made  him  think  of  them  as 
pointed  lips.  Her  eyelids  were  shaped  like  eyelids 
in  Egyptian  drawings.  There  was  something  an- 
cient about  the  drawing  of  her  eye-brows  and  nose. 

"  We're  panting  for  news,  Billy,  while  you  stand 
there  like  a  blinking  mountain." 

"  You  ought  to  know  that  I  wouldn't  tell  you  any- 
thing, if  I  had  anything  to  tell." 

"Why,  Billy  dear?" 

"  You're  not  to  be  trusted  with  secrets." 

"Oh—     Oh—     Oh!" 

They  were  very  foolish.  Was  Helen  never  go- 
ing to  speak? 

He  heard  Jimmy  say  to  her  in  a  low  aside : 

"  You're  very  quiet,  Helen." 

Her  murmured  reply  was  scarcely  audible,  but  he 
saw  her  smile.  Why  should  she  smile  at  Jimmy? 
It  was  hypocritical  of  her  to  smile  at  any  one.  He 
wondered  if  she  would  smile  at  him  if  he  asked  her 


THE  TORTOISE  65 

a  question.  He  spoke  straight  at  her  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"What  have  you  been  doing  all  day?  " 

"  Nothing."  Her  face  stiffened.  It  became 
rigid.  Her  eyes  dilated. 

It  was  true  then  that  she  was  afraid  ot  him. 

He  felt  no  pity  for  her  now.  The  sight  of  her 
fear  tempted  him.  He  had  a  voluptuous  feeling. 
He  wanted  her  to  be  more  afraid.  To  bring  this 
about  it  was  not  necessary  to  do  anything.  He  had 
only  to  will  it. 

"  You  are  going  to  let  us  go  home  without  one 
little  crumb  of  news?  "  wailed  Millicent. 

"Yes."  He  didn't  like  Millicent.  She  was 
anaemic  and  whining. 

"  If  you  won't  tell,  then  I  shall  make  something 
up." 

"  Do." 

"  W.  B.,  you're  not  a  bit  like  yourself." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I'm  always  uninteresting." 

He  spoke  very  softly.  He  wanted  Helen  to  be 
more  and  more  afraid. 

"  No,  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  explode. 
It's  a  clue.  That  shall  be  my  news.  William 
Chudd  is  excited.  They'll  be  impressed  by  that,  for 
if  you  W.  B.  are  excited,  what  must  the  rest  of 
them  be?" 

"  Pooh,"  said  Mary  Bridge.  "  I  don't  see  what 
the  murder  of  an  Arch  Duke  in  Servia  has  got  to 
do  with  us." 

"  Hear,  hear!     We're  an  island." 


66  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Let's  be  happy." 

"  We  are." 

"  No  one  more  so." 

"  But  rather  stupid,"  put  in  Peggy.  "  I  wish  my 
husband  were  a  great  mysterious  man." 

"Peggy  dear!" 

"  Well  really,  no  one  could  call  Arthur  great  or 
mysterious  could  they?  He's  so  very  short  I've 
begged  him  to  wear  high  heels,  but  it's  no  use.  Poor 
darling!  He'll  be  wondering  where  I  am,  I've  not 
seen  him  for  a  week  though  we've  both  been  home 
several  times  since  last  Sunday." 

"  He  said  he  lost  you  at  Ascot." 

"  He  loses  things  so  easily."  Peggy  put  on  her 
hat  wistfully.  Her  pure  little  face  was  turned 
sweetly  to  them  all.  She  smiled  lazily,  and  her  eyes 
said  as  they  always  did :  "  Yes,  love  me,  all  of  you. 
I'm  incorrigible  and  though  their  name  is  legion, 
I'm  a  kind  old  thing." 

She  bent  over  Helen.  "  Good-bye,  darling.  I 
forgive  you  for  forgetting  the  lingerie  but  I  needed 
the  things  badly." 

William  watching,  saw  Helen  clutch  at  the  two 
little  hands. 

The  group  was  breaking  up  about  him. 

"  Come,  William,  put  me  into  my  car,"  said 
Peggy's  voice.  She  had  disengaged  her  hands.  He 
followed  her.  They  all  came  along,  making  a  noise. 
If  Peggy  knew  anything,  she  would  never  tell.  Her 
sweetness  was  unruffled.  She  took  Mary  Bridge 
with  her  and  Jimmy,  and  a  new  quiet  man  with  a 


THE  TORTOISE  67 

brown  face  and  lazy  voice  whom  she  seemed  to  like. 
Jim  looked  at  him  anxiously,  Peggy  waved  a  gay 
little  hand. 

There  was  a  great  fuss  getting  the  rest  of  them 
off.  He  kept  saying  to  himself:  "  She's  alone  at 
last."  He  anticipated  her  terror  greedily.  There 
was  no  one  to  protect  her  now.  She  would  be 
obliged  to  reveal  herself. 

There  was  no  sun  in  the  garden  when  he  got  away 
from  the  last  spirting  motor.  Helen  stood  like  a 
figure  of  snow  in  the  distance.  The  blue  shadow 
of  the  trees  was  like  cold  water  all  around  her.  He 
drew  nearer  and  saw  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  him 
in  a  motionless  widening  stare.  Her  stare  drew 
him  on  swiftly.  His  strides  carried  him  through 
the  cold  space  that  separated  them,  in  an  instant,  but 
the  instant  was  too  long  for  him  to  reach  her.  He 
had  stretched  out  an  arm  and  suddenly,  just  as  if 
shot  by  a  soundless  bullet,  she  fell  forward  on  her 
face,  at  his  feet.  He  had  still  another  wide  step 
to  go  before  bending  down. 


PART  TWO 


PART  II 


PARIS  held  its  breath.  The  pulse  of  a  nation's 
life  seemed  to  have  stopped  its  beating.  It 
was  as  if  the  day,  the  incredible  last  day  of 
July  were  not  a  day  at  all,  but  an  absolute  unlimited 
interval  cut  out  of  time.  Beneath  the  little  black 
numbers  of  a  thousand  calendars  were  written  the 
invisible  words  "The  end";  and  between  the  era 
that  was  ended  and  the  era  that  was  to  begin  on  the 
morrow,  the  day  existed  a  thin  impassible  slice  of 
nothingness. 

In  innumerable  frightened  houses,  on  strange  si- 
lent streets  the  people  waited.  They  waited  for  a 
word.  As  if  petrified  by  the  sight  of  some  enormous 
medusa  hanging  in  the  hot  summer  sky  the  face  of 
the  city  was  turned  to  stone. 

The  word  "  War  "  hovered  beyond  the  confines 
of  the  empty  day.  It  was  there  hidden  in  the  piled 
up  stuff  of  tomorrow,  like  a  flash  of  lightning  hidden 
in  layers  of  cloud  that  loomed  tremendous  against 
the  edges  of  the  horizon. 

The  oppressed  people  listened  to  the  great  clocks 
that  were  ticking  out  the  time  instant  by  instant, 
and  each  instant  removed  them  a  little  further  from 
the  shore  of  the  world  they  knew.  They  saw  their 
occupations  and  their  comfortable  homes  and  their 
friends  and  their  serenity  of  mind,  like  objects  on 

71 


72  THE  TORTOISE 

a  receding  land,  fade  into  the  distance;  but  they 
could  not  see  what  was  ahead.  Ahead  was  the  steep 
wall  of  the  precipice  of  war.  It  was  a  blank  unscal- 
able surface  upon  the  face  of  which  each  one  beheld 
the  reflection  of  his  own  disturbed  soul. 

Nevertheless  there  were  a  great  many  people  in 
Paris  who  had  never  been  there  before  at  the  end  of 
July.  From  across  every  section  of  the  country  they 
had  come  hurrying.  The  map  of  France  had  been 
covered  with  myriads  of  tiny  scurrying  specks  con- 
verging from  the  seashore  and  the  lakes  and  the 
mountains  to  the  hot  cities.  No  one  wanted  to  be 
alone  and  no  one  wanted  to  be  far  away.  Each 
had  hurried  to  the  centre  of  his  interest.  Each 
looked  for  the  person  to  whom  he  belonged,  and 
clung  to  the  one  who  had  shared  with  him  the  life 
that  was  ended;  only  the  children  were  left  by  the 
seaside  and  the  women  who  belonged  to  the  children. 
As  if  by  magic  all  the  men  in  the  world  had  dis- 
appeared from  holiday  places  and  the  women  who 
belonged  to  the  men  had  gone  with  them. 

The  Princess  of  Narbonne  had  Accompanied  her 
son  to  Paris.  He  had  left  a  yacht  full  of  friends 
on  the  coast  and  had  gone  to  fetch  her  in  the  grey 
chateau  where  she  was  dozing.  There  had  been  no 
question  for  either  of  them  but  of  her  going  with 
him.  She  had  taken  her  jewel-case  in  one  hand  and 
her  stick  in  the  other  and  had  led  the  way,  her  head 
up  and  a  mask  on  her  wasted  face. 

She  sat  alone  now  in  her  sultry  Paris  garden  sur- 
rounded by  other  gardens  and  the  high  white  walls 


THE  TORTOISE  73 

of  other  shuttered  houses.  With  one  hand  on  the 
knob  of  her  stick,  she  sat  leaning  slightly  forward, 
staring  at  a  bit  of  dusty  ivy-covered  wall  and  before 
her  red  rimmed  eyes  passed  a  succession  of  men,  in 
strange  uniforms,  with  clanking  swords  and  proud 
faces,  all  the  men  of  her  family  that  she  had  seen 
go  off  to  other  wars. 

Her  son  Jocelyn  was  in  his  room  in  the  left  wing, 
packing.  If  she  lifted  her  head  she  could  see  the 
windows  of  his  rooms  that  gave  on  to  the  garden, 
but  she  did  not  look  that  way.  She  was  measuring 
her  strength  against  the  suffering  ahead  of  her. 
Carefully,  she  would  mete  it  out.  She  would  not 
allow  herself  the  luxury  of  any  sudden  pang,  or  any 
sweeping  emotion. 

Her  attitude  was  one  of  defiance.  She  refused  to 
acknowledge  the  fact  that  tomorrow  her  son's  rooms 
would  be  empty;  she  would  not  admit  that  any  harm 
could  come  to  him;  she  defied  the  Heavens  to  break 
her  heart.  "  I  will  have  prayers  said  for  him  every 
day,"  she  muttered  to  herself  grimly.  She  would 
burn  innumerable  candles  and  neglect  no  courtesy  to 
the  celestial  powers,  but  she  would  not  be  frightened. 
It  was  impossible  to  admit  that  her  youngest  son, 
the  one  person  in  the  world  who  had  ever  called 
out  of  the  languor  of  her  heart  an  unquenchable 
passion  of  affection,  should  be  taken  from  her  in  her 
old  age.  It  was  not  for  this  that  she  had  loved  him. 

Nevertheless,  she  felt  that  she  knew  the  meaning 
of  war.  She  remembered  the  horror  of  war  spread- 
ing like  a  pestilence  over  the  elegant  society  in  which 


74  THE  TORTOISE 

she  had  reigned.  Her  husband  had  lost  an  arm  in 
1870.  Her  lover  of  that  year  had  been  killed.  She 
remembered  the  feverish  excitement  of  the  salons 
of  Paris,  the  arrival  of  the  bad  news  in  the  middle 
of  a  ball.  She  had  worn  pale  blue  satin  with  silver 
slippers  that  night.  Some  women  had  fainted  — 
one  had  had  hysterics. 

In  those  days  men  had  fought  for  the  emperor; 
there  had  been  a  certain  elegance  about  war.  To- 
day one  fought  for  a  France  shorn  of  glory,  clothed 
in  the  dull  abhorrent  garment  of  the  Republic.  One 
went  to  war,  with  the  sons  of  the  butcher,  the  baker, 
and  the  maire  of  one's  village.  Some  fat  trades- 
men in  a  black  coat  had  signed  the  papers  for 
Jocelyn's  mobilization. 

The  Government  was  despicable  but  it  was  right 
for  her  son  to  fight  for  his  country.  France  be- 
longed to  such  as  he,  the  others  were  interlopers. 

Behind  the  Princess,  in  the  deep-shrouded  rooms 
of  the  house,  a  bell  tinkled.  Slippered  feet  moved; 
shuffling  across  polished  floors.  Doors  opened  and 
closed. 

"  Pierre,"  she  called.  There  was  no  answer. 
"  Pierre,"  she  repeated  in  a  loud  shrill  tone  and 
pounded  with  her  stick  on  the  stone  floor  of  the 
terrasse. 

An  old  man,  in  carpet  slippers  and  a  blue  holland 
apron  appeared  blinking  in  one  of  the  open  windows 
behind  her. 

"  Yes,  Princess." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  demanded  without  turning. 


THE  TORTOISE  75 

"  It  is  a  note  for  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"A  note?" 

"  Yes,  Princess." 

"What  kind  of  a  note?" 

"  A  blue  note,  Princess." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  bring  it  here." 

The  old  man  advanced  distressfully.  His  watery 
eyes  wavered.  The  pale  sunlight  reflected  from  the 
white  walls  of  the  house  made  his  bald  pate  shine 
like  a  polished  globe.  He  handed  the  envelope  to 
his  mistress  and  began  rubbing  his  knotted  hands 
on  his  apron. 

"  I  don't  know  the  writing,"  she  muttered. 

"  No,  Princess." 

"Who  brought  it?" 

"  A  messenger  boy,  Princess." 

"What  kind  of  a  boy?" 

"  An  impudent  rascal  of  a  boy." 

"  Well,  take  it  to  the  count." 

"  Yes,  Princess." 

"  And  then  fetch  your  wife.  I  must  talk  to  her 
about  cooking  us  something  for  dinner." 

"  Very  well,  Princess." 

The  old  man  turned  away.  He  was  half  across 
the  terrace  when  she  called  after  him: 

"  Was  the  boy  in  livery?  " 

"  Yes,  Princess.  Hotel  livery.  The  Meurice,  I 
think." 

"  The  hotel  Meurice,"  she  repeated  shrilly, 
"  where's  that?" 

Pierre  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  exas- 


76  THE  TORTOISE 

perated  surprise,  but  his  voice  remained  respectful. 

"  The  Princess  does  not  know  the  Hotel  Meurice? 
It  is  in  the  rue  de  Rivoli." 

"  How  should  I  know?  Do  I  ever  cross  the 
river?  Well,  well,  go  along." 

Pierre  disappeared  into  the  house.  The  old  lady 
crossed  her  two  yellow  hands  on  her  stick  and  leaned 
further  forward.  Her  long  back  did  not  bend;  it 
looked  as  if  it  could  not  do  so,  without  snapping, 
but  she  slanted  forward  toward  those  emaciated  out- 
stretched hands  with  their  heavy  diamond  rings  and 
her  rigid  white  head  under  its  folds  of  black  lace 
quivered.  She  stared  at  the  ground  muttering. 

The  note  with  its  unfamiliar  bold  writing  had  dis- 
turbed her.  She  had  always  resented  being  dis- 
turbed. All  her  life,  she  had  economized  her  emo- 
tions and  had  opposed  her  will  to  any  menace  to 
her  calm.  Her  business  for  forty  years  had  been 
to  remain  beautiful.  She  had  achieved  this  with 
unceasing  pains.  No  unpleasant  expression  had 
been  tolerated  upon  her  features.  No  trouble  had 
been  allowed  to  mark  her  serenity.  No  person  had 
been  suffered  who  worried  her.  Jocelyn  alone  had 
penetrated  beneath  the  perfect  enamel  of  her  worldly 
surface.  He  had  weakened  her,  for  him  she  was 
vulnerable.  When  suddenly,  fifteen  years  ago,  she 
had  at  the  age  of  fifty  on  the  death  of  her  husband 
given  up  the  world,  and  had  stepped  down  from  her 
throne  there,  she  had  continued  in  her  seclusion  the 
habits  of  her  grandeur.  Buried  in  her  self-imposed 
solitude,  she  held  court  among  the  ghosts  of  her 


THE  TORTOISE  77 

brilliant  past.  Jocelyn  alone  of  all  living  beings 
had  entered  the  secret  place  of  her  mind's  retirement. 
Her  other  sons  and  her  daughter  and  her  grand- 
children had  been  relegated  to  the  edges  of  her  life. 
Their  respectful  devotion  she  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course,  but  she  took  only  a  mild  sceptical  interest 
in  their  doings.  Her  grandchildren  bored  her;  her 
eldest  son  annoyed  her  with  eternal  questions  of 
the  sale  of  forests  and  fields.  Her  daughter  seemed 
to  her  much  too  undiscriminating  in  her  tastes,  she 
received  artists  and  journalists  and  foreigners. 
Jocelyn  alone  amused  her  and  tickled  her  fancy,  and 
satisfied  her  pride.  From  him  she  demanded  con- 
fidence, coming  year  by  year  to  depend  more  and 
more  upon  the  recital  of  his  experiences  for  enter- 
tainment. His  amusements  she  understood,  and 
from  her  seclusion  she  participated  in  his  capricious 
triumphs.  She  had  in  mind  a  series  of  definite 
images  of  the  women  who  had  taken  his  fancy. 
With  a  kind  of  vindictive  pleasure  she  had  watched 
their  coming  and  going,  the  rising  of  their  stars  and 
their  waning.  She  flattered  herself  that  she  was 
acquainted  with  them  all,  without  knowing  any  of 
them.  Of  some  she  had  mildly  disapproved,  but 
of  none  had  she  been  jealous.  Only  one  had 
troubled  her  peace  of  mind,  a  strange  foreign  woman 
that  her  son  had  once  brought  bodily  into  her  pres- 
ence. She  had  been  obliged  to  give  lunch  to  the 
great  anglo-saxon  creature,  the  first  foreigner  who 
had  been  invited  to  a  meal  in  her  house  since  the  day 
that  the  present  Czar  had  dined  there. 


78  THE  TORTOISE 

She  remembered  the  Englishwoman  now  with  her 
great  yellow  eyes  and  broad  shoulders.  There  had 
been  something  dangerous  about  her.  She  had  not 
dared  express  to  Jocelyn  her  feeling  of  antipathy, 
nor  had  Jocelyn  confided  in  her  on  that  occasion. 
She  had  been  glad  when  Yvonne  her  daughter  had 
told  her  that  the  woman  had  left  Paris.  She  could 
not  understand  Yvonne's  interest  in  foreigners. 

It  occurred  to  her  now  that  there  was  something 
foreign  about  the  handwriting  on  the  envelope. 
Suppose  that  this  woman  or  some  other  from  her 
cold  savage  country  were  to  make  an  appearance  at 
this  moment.  It  would  be  more  than  she  could 
bear. 

She  had  summoned  all  her  energy  to  meet  the 
hour  of  separation.  Moment  by  moment  she  was 
letting  it  approach  her.  Lower  and  lower  she 
crouched  to  meet  it,  so  that  it  might  not  overturn 
her  when  it  came.  She  had  commanded  her  will 
to  uphold  her,  but  to  succeed  she  must  be  undis- 
turbed. Keeping  still  was  now  an  effort  that  needed 
the  concentration  of  all  her  powers.  She  felt  that 
if  she  let  go  of  herself  for  one  moment  she  would 
crumble  to  pieces.  If  a  stranger  should  come  upon 
her  now,  the  shock  would  knock  her  down. 

"  Dust  to  dust  — "  the  words  stared  at  her  from 
the  ground.  Her  bones  were  brittle.  One  blow 
and  they  would  go  to  the  dust  they  were  made  of. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  sharp  stabbing  pain  in  her 
side.  Jocelyn  was  her  son.  He  was  her  own.  She 
was  about  to  send  him  away  to  the  war.  .  .  . 


THE  TORTOISE  79 

A  feeling  of  faintness  came  over  her.  She  seemed 
to  be  falling  forward  toward  the  stone  flags  of  the 
terrace,  and  a  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  her  out 
of  the  sultry  air. 

"  You  are  old.  You  cannot  fight  against  fate 
any  longer.  You  are  about  to  be  left  alone.  Your 
child  is  being  taken  away  from  you.  What  will 
be  left  to  you  ?  What  have  you  done  for  your  son 
to  fit  him  for  life  or  for  death?  You  have  lived 
for  fetishes  always.  Shams  have  been  your  treas- 
ures. Now  you  will  be  punished.  He  will  be 
killed." 

Convent  bells  were  ringing.  Their  notes  came 
floating  across  the  surrounding  labyrinth  of  streets 
and  gardens. 

The  princess  straightened  herself  with  a  jerk. 
Was  she  a  weak  woman  fool,  to  be  tormented  now 
by  her  conscience?  That  was  all  very  well  for  peas- 
ants and  superstitious  people.  The  church  urged 
repentance,  but  she,  what  had  she  to  regret?  She 
had  been  the  greatest  lady  of  her  time. 

Her  black  eyes  under  their  shrivelled  reddened 
lids  flashed,  like  brilliant  stones  in  a  dilapidated 
setting.  The  thin  loose  layer  of  worn  yellow  flesh 
that  covered  the  proud  bones  of  her  face  worked 
erratically.  The  shaking  of  her  head  was  plainly 
visible  against  the  white  wall  behind  her. 

Toward  her  quivering  figure  the  pealing  notes 
of  the  convent  bells  came  rolling.  They  were  waves 
of  silvery  sound  that  broke  against  her  black  decrepi- 
tude. Her  brittle  body  shook  under  the  undulating 


8o  THE  TORTOISE 

pressure  of  their  contact.  She  was  weak,  she  was 
old;  her  beautiful  being  had  long  ago  turned  to 
wreckage.  No  blood  in  the  long  pale  veins  of  her 
body  mounted  to  her  face  to  meet  the  living  air. 
No  breath  of  life  in  her  dry  heart  went  out  to  meet 
the  mystery  of  the  beauty  of  the  dying  day.  The 
sweet  light  of  the  heavens  hovering  above  the  hushed 
and  fearful  city,  found  her  eyes  glaring  above  a 
thin  column  of  dead  bones  and  flesh,  while  once 
again  she  opposed  to  the  menace  of  truth  the  skele- 
ton of  her  indomitable  pride.  She  thought: 

"  Jocelyn  will  not  be  killed.  No  harm  will  come 
to  him,  but  I  would  rather  he  were  killed  than  caught 
in  the  toils  of  that  woman.  He  would  want  to 
marry  her.  The  men  of  his  family  do  not  marry 
divorced  middle  class  women.  His  forefathers 
knew  how  to  live  and  how  to  die.  They  knew  what 
was  permitted." 

When  the  pealing  of  the  bells  ceased  her  head 
was  no  longer  shaking.  She  sat  erect  in  the  deep- 
ening shadow,  a  black  effigy  on  a  throne  passing 
in  review  the  elegant  ghosts  of  her  memory. 

Pierre,  the  concierge,  had  darted  into  the  house, 
scurrying  through  the  dim  salons  where  marble 
columns  and  shrouded  sofas  were  reflected  in  the 
great  mirrors  and  gleaming  parquets,  down  a  dark 
corridor  and  up  three  steps,  to  a  door  at  which  he 
knocked. 

"Entrez!" 

He  entered  a  place  of  confusion.     Two  flushed 


THE  TORTOISE  81 

young  men  in  their  shirt  sleeves  looked  up  at  him 
from  a  quite  extraordinary  disorder.  In  the  middle 
of  the  floor  was  the  regulation  iron  trunk  of  the 
French  officer  and  around  this  spreading  over  rugs, 
tables,  chairs  and  sofas,  was  a  litter  of  objects: 
boots,  boot-jacks,  breeches,  coats,  leather  cases, 
sponges,  bottles,  piles  of  linen,  revolvers,  soap,  letter 
paper. 

Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  was  on  his  knees  before  the 
trunk,  a  pair  of  scarlet  cavalry  breeches  in  his  hands. 
Behind  him,  in  the  window,  his  friend,  Guy  de  Bris- 
sac,  was  polishing  a  sword  with  the  tail  of  a  flannel 
shirt. 

"  A  note  for  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  quavered 
Pierre. 

"  Well,  give  it  here.  It's  nothing  to  be  emotional 
about,  my  poor  old  one." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  Jocelyn,  it's  not 
the  note." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  But  what  will  you  ?  Don't 
take  on." 

"  But  will  Monsieur  le  Comte  ever  arrive?  Does 
Monsieur  le  Comte  propose  to  put  all  that  in  that 
box?" 

"  No,  no,  not  all,  a  half,  a  quarter.  Here  — 
The  note,  it  came?  " 

"  By  messenger." 

"  Ah,  I  see.  "  St.  Christe  stood  up.  He  fin- 
gered the  note  as  if  it  were  ever  so  slightly  unpleas- 
ant to  the  touch.  His  glance  at  the  address  had 


82  THE  TORTOISE 

slanted  off  out  of  the  window.  He  seemed  to  be 
pursuing  there  in  the  treetops  a  fugitive  and  annoy- 
ing idea. 

Pierre  waited.  His  waiting  was  ignored.  The 
note  in  the  fastidious  fingers  was  ignored.  The 
disorderly  present  was  ignored. 

Pierre  was  too  old  to  be  patient. 

"  At  your  service,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  mut- 
tered fretfully.  Receiving  no  answer  he  screwed 
his  pale  eyes  toward  the  silent  young  gentleman  in 
the  window  and  withdrew,  but  outside  the  door  he 
stopped  and  stuck  his  bald  head  once  more  into  the 
room. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  dines  this  evening  with 
Madame  la  Princesse?  It  is  because  of  the  fowl." 

"  Yes,  yes." 

His  old  head  was  gone. 

Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  opened  the  letter  delicately. 
It  took  an  instant  to  read,  and  was  tossed  to  his 
friend. 

"  The  beautiful  Madame  Chudd,  who  falls  from 
heaven,"  he  enunciated  concisely.  His  lips  clipped 
off  the  words  neatly.  His  fine  eyes  under  lifted 
arching  eyebrows  watched  the  slip  of  paper  undergo 
the  scrutiny  of  his  friend.  It  took  an  instant  to 
read,  a  second  time,  and  was  laid  on  the  table. 
There  were  only  a  dozen  words  to  it.  They  stared 
up  from  the  paper  at  the  ceiling.  "  Dear  friend, 
I  have  come.  You  will  find  me  at  the  Hotel 
Meurice  at  any  hour  of  the  day.  Faithfully  yours, 
Helen." 


THE  TORTOISE  83 

The  two  men,  so  many  times  larger,  so  very  much 
more  important  than  that  thin  sheet  of  paper,  looked 
at  each  other  across  it.  Their  look  conveyed  a 
perfect  understanding  of  such  a  fine  discriminating 
quality  as  to  make  conversation  almost  unnecessary. 

"  At  this  moment,"  murmured  Brissac. 

"  You  will  admit  that  it  is  not  the  moment." 

The  letter  became  for  an  instant  the  object  of 
their  converging  unfriendly  glances.  Then  the  two 
pairs  of  eyes  looked  at  each  other  with  sympathy. 

St.  Christe  lifted  his  shoulders  and  pushed  his 
hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  I  understand  nothing,  but  nothing  at  all,"  he 
brought  out  after  turning  his  back  and  then  facing 
round  again.  It  was  impossible  to  walk  up  and 
down  on  the  crowded  floor. 

"As  for  that —     Does  one  ever  understand?" 
'  Tomorrow  I  leave  for  Rheims." 

"  Just  so." 

"  After  that,  God  knows  where." 

"  Exactly." 
'  Tomorrow,  the  depot;  the  next  day  war." 

"  Well,  perhaps  not  the  next  day." 

"  There  remains  tonight,"  announced  Jocelyn. 

Brissac  had  begun  again  the  polishing  of  the 
sword  hilt.  He  did  not  lift  his  eyes. 

'  There  remains,  as  you  say,  tonight,"  he  echoed. 

His  attitude  suggested  that  he  had  no  opinions 
and  no  ideas  on  this  or  any  other  subject.  His 
sleek  head,  his  square  shoulders,  his  fine  well  kept 
hands,  conveyed  an  impression  of  exquisite  and  ele- 


84  THE  TORTOISE 

gant  discretion.  One  felt  certain  to  look  at  him, 
that  none  of  those  closely  knit  nicely  modelled  limbs 
of  his  could  ever  make  a  false  movement.  Never 
would  either  of  his  smartly  shod  feet  take  a  mis- 
step. One  could  trust  them  to  the  most  difficult 
and  intricate  paths. 

Their  way,  at  the  moment,  their  owner  was  say- 
ing to  himself,  was  out  of  the  door.  Silence  had 
followed  his  last  phrase.  He  laid  the  sword  beside 
the  letter  on  the  table  and  began  putting  on  his  coat. 
It  was  a  beautifully  fitting  coat.  He  was  buttoning 
it  up  when  St.  Christe  rapped  out  sharply  through 
tight  lips. 

"  But  it's  not  done.     One  simply  doesn't  do  it." 

Brissac  looked  at  the  fine  lean  face  of  his 
friend  through  narrowed  eyes.  The  flutter  of  his 
eyelids  expressed  the  faintest  shade  of  surprise,  but 
the  sound  that  his  neat  mouth  emitted  was  a  grunt 
with  a  definite  intonation  of  sympathy  and  it  drew 
from  the  other  the  sudden  nervous  query : 

"What  shall  I  do?"  to  which  Brissac  re- 
torted: "What  does  she  expect  you  to  do?" 
whereupon  St.  Christe  followed  up  quickly  with 
a  kind  of  exasperated  hiss:  "  That's  just  it;  I  don't 
know." 

The  surprise  on  Brissac's  face  betrayed  an 
obvious  incredulity,  but  it  passed  unnoticed. 

"  You  see,  I  don't  even  know  why  she  left.  She 
disappeared  at  the  moment  of  my  highest  expecta- 
tions without  explanation,  without  warning.  I  went 


THE  TORTOISE  85 

round  one  day  and  found  her  gone.  No  word  since 
then.  Not  a  word  all  this  time.  Two  months;  my 
letters  unanswered,  and  now,  suddenly  she  arrives, 
on  the  eve  of  the  war." 

"  Perhaps  she  knows  nothing  of  the  danger." 

"  Then  why  has  she  come?  " 

"  A  whim,  a  remorse." 

"  But  she  must  know.  Her  husband  I  am  told  is 
one  of  the  confidential  advisers  of  his  Government." 

"  Then  she  has  come  to  say  good-bye." 

"  Ah,  there  you  are.  She  may  have  come  to  say 
good-bye." 

"  In  which  case?"  queried  Brissac. 

"  In  which  case,"  cried  St.  Christe,  "  she  is 
mad."  He  threw  up  his  hands  and  flung  himself 
forward  on  the  open  window-sill  and  began  drum- 
ming on  the  stone  ledge  with  his  fingers. 

He  thought. 

"  It  is  impossible,  what  she  has  done.  She  puts 
me  in  an  impossible  position.  I  cannot  go  to  her. 
It  is  too  dangerous.  If  I  went  I  would  stay;  she  is 
not  wise.  We  would  both  be  seriously  com- 
promised. Beside,  I  have  other  things  to  think  of 
now.  This  is  no  moment  for  a  love  affair.  In  a 
week  I  may  be  dead.  I  have  hundreds  of  things  to 
do  before  tomorrow.  And  there  is  my  mother." 

He  could  see  his  mother  down  below  on  the  ter- 
race. Her  black  solitary  figure  seemed  to  him  very 
small  and  pitiful  beneath  the  broad  facade  of  the 
house  with  its  rows  of  high  shuttered  windows.  She 


86  THE  TORTOISE 

did  not  look  up  at  him.  Her  head  was  bent  over 
her  hands  that  were  clasped  on  her  stick.  She 
looked  as  if  she  were  praying. 

"You  don't  want  to  see  her  then?"  Brissac 
asked  behind  him. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  see  her.  I  have  only  to- 
night. I  must  spend  tonight  with  my  mother." 
The  words  were  spoken  slowly  and  with  a  certain 
solemnity. 

Brissac  moved  toward  the  door.  He  thought 
that  a  groan  floated  back  to  him  from  the  head  be- 
yond the  window.  He  hesitated.  On  his  part  there 
was  timidity  now,  to  meet  the  solemnity  of  his  friend. 

"  Shall  I  go  to  the  Meurice  and  tell  her  that  you 
have  left?" 

"Yes,  do  that.     Ugh!  this  is  most  painful." 

"  It  won't  seem  important  a  month  from  now." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,  but  she  is  proud,  the  proud- 
est woman  I've  ever  known." 

"  You  forget  that  she  will  never  know  that  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  yes.  And  there  is  my  mother.  She  has 
a  right;  she  has  every  right." 

"  I'm  off  then  —  unless  you  will  go  yourself  for 
half  an  hour." 

Jocelyn  turned.     He  shook  his  head. 

"  Too  dangerous,"  he  muttered.  "  She  would 
keep  me.  I'm  afraid  of  her;  you  see  her,  you  tell 
her;  I  leave  it  to  you.  It's  better  so.  There's  no 
time.  Good  God  man,  the  Germans  may  cross  the 
frontier  tomorrow.  How  can  one  begin  a  love 


THE  TORTOISE  87 

affair  at  such  a  moment?  End  one?  Yes,  perhaps, 
but  begin.  No.  Take  a  new  mistress  the  night 
of  the  end  of  the  world?  No,  truly,  it's  not  worth 
while ;  one  doesn't  do  it." 

"  Good-bye  then  till  tomorrow." 

"  Good-bye." 


II 


JOCELYN  DE  ST.  CHRISTE  was  thirty-five 
years  old  and  for  thirty-five  years  he  had  en- 
joyed himself.  His  nature  was  on  the  whole 
a  happy  one.  Circumstances  had  conspired  to 
please  him.  If  he  had  inherited  any  of  the  austere 
intolerance  of  his  parents,  the  trait  had  been  buried 
beneath  a  charming  layer  of  softness.  Life  had 
always  caressed  him.  Its  caresses  had  given  him  a 
genial  brilliance.  He  carried  light  with  him  into 
the  dimmest  salon.  People  hovered  about  him  like 
moths  round  a  candle. 

He  had  become  an  artist  in  the  enjoyment  of  life: 
giving  pleasure  and  receiving  it  in  the  most  attrac- 
tive way  possible  had  been  his  occupation  since  his 
tutor  had  proclaimed  him  a  man. 

He  was  in  harmony  with  his  world.  Its  limita- 
tions seemed  to  him  pleasant,  it's  prejudices  honour- 
able. His  people  had,  at  the  birth  of  the  Republic, 
cut  themselves  off  from  all  public  activity.  They 
considered  themselves  bound  in  honour  to  love 
France  and  loathe  the  Government  and  do  nothing 
about  it.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  consider 
their  attitude  as  unfortunate.  The  world  had  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  as  a  treasure  house  wherein  he 
could  let  his  taste  gratify  itself.  His  taste  was  con- 
sidered infallible.  He  had  been  too  busy,  exercis- 


THE  TORTOISE  89 

ing  the  faculty  of  choice,  to  consider  any  of  his  vi- 
tality as  wasted.  Selection,  comparison,  minute  ob- 
servation of  beautiful  objects,  this  had  occupied  him, 
and  if  women  had  become  for  him  the  most  engross- 
ing of  objects,  taking  up  more  of  his  time  than  rare 
bibelots  or  old  bindings,  it  was  because  they,  rather 
than  he,  wanted  it  to  be  so.  Women  loved  him. 

He  was  grateful  to  them  for  being  so  nice  to  him. 
Scarce  any  of  them  had  caused  him  a  pang.  His 
occasional  duels  had  not  been  concerned  with  them. 
He  cultivated  certain  prejudices  in  order,  as  he  put 
it,  not  to  get  too  lazy.  Israelites  were  to  him  an 
abomination.  He  laughed  at  them  and  occasionally 
picked  a  quarrel  with  one,  just  to  prove  that  his 
sustained  contempt  was  dangerous.  Secretly,  he 
was  proud  of  being  considered  the  best  swordsman 
in  Paris.  An  obscure  instinct  impelled  him,  now 
and  then  to  run  after  danger.  He  called  it  amuse- 
ment, but  it  was  deeper  than  that.  At  bottom  he 
felt  life  to  be  too  easy.  His  gratitude  to  the  women 
who  were  kind  to  him  would  have  been  greater  had 
they  been  less  easily  kind.  Of  late  years,  he  had 
even  begun  to  feel  that  he  would  enjoy  suffering  for 
a  change.  Being  incapable  of  inflicting  it  upon  him- 
self, he  had  gently  experimented  in  it  with  others,  but 
to  humiliate  a  woman  and  tease  a  man  to  exaspera- 
tion was  not  on  the  whole  worth  while.  He  was 
beginning  to  wonder  whether  some  day  he  might 
not  after  all  be  dreadfully  bored,  when  Helen  Chudd 
stepped  across  his  horizon.  She  had  been  admirably 
difficult.  Her  coldness  had  been  just  the  tonic  he 


90  THE  TORTOISE 

wanted.  The  aspect  of  her  splendid  struggle 
against  him,  had  thrilled  him.  He  had  been  moved, 
as  he  had  never  been  moved  before  and  had  been 
on  the  verge  of  adoring  her,  when  she  had  disap- 
peared. For  a  month  afterwards  he  had  been 
angry.  The  experience  was  peculiar.  Resuming 
once  again  the  pleasures  of  habit  he  had  discovered 
that  the  boredom  he  had  dreaded  as  a  distant  peril, 
was  now  suddenly  upon  him. 

The  summons  of  the  country  calling  him  to  pre- 
pare for  war  had  been  an  immense  relief. 

He  had  left  his  agreeable  rather  tiresome  friends 
in  a  state  of  exalted  excitement. 

The  sight  of  his  mother's  valiant  horror  had  been 
to  him  the  first  sign  of  monstrous  disaster.  On  her 
stricken  face  he  had  read  the  message  of  fear.  Be- 
cause he  had  always  feared  her,  and  had  never  quite 
lost  his  child's  feeling  of  awed  belief  in  her  tyrannical 
power,  the  sudden  realization  of  her  helplessness 
had  made  him  understand  the  immense  catastrophy. 
He  saw  her,  minute  and  frail,  in  a  desolate  world. 
She  appeared  to  him,  suddenly,  just  a  helpless  old 
woman  in  danger.  The  fact  had  disturbed  him  pro- 
foundly. 

Their  trip  to  Paris,  which  should  have  taken  four 
hours,  had  been  interminable.  The  train  had  been 
twelve  hours  late.  They  had  spent  the  night  in  a 
compartment  with  six  other  people.  He  had  been 
unable  to  get  her  any  food.  In  the  stuffy  dark  of 
the  carriage,  he  had  discerned  her  sitting  upright 
in  her  corner,  a  grim,  tortured  figure.  She  had1 


THE  TORTOISE  91 

scarcely  spoken  a  word.  Leaning  over  her,  at  in- 
tervals during  the  night,  he  had  stroked  her  hand. 
The  lights  of  passing  trains  had  shown  him  her  face, 
dry  and  gray  with  wide  open  eyes.  He  had  been 
afraid  the  fatigue  would  kill  her.  The  thought  kept 
recurring  that  in  a  few  hours,  he  would  no  longer 
be  near  to  protect  her. 

They  had  arrived  in  Paris  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  There  was  no  one  to  meet  them  at  the 
station.  He  had  managed  to  find  a  fiacre  to  drive 
them  home.  The  coachman  and  the  groom  and  the 
two  footmen  had  already  gone.  The  butler  they 
had  left  in  the  country.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
house  but  the  concierge  and  his  wife,  who  had  not 
received  the  telegram  announcing  their  arrival. 
The  house  had  welcomed  them  like  a  familiar  tomb. 
He  had  opened  the  windows  and  had  helped  old 
Jeannette  make  his  mother's  bed  but  she  had  re- 
fused to  lie  down  on  it.  All  day  she  had  been 
sitting  in  the  garden.  He  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
her  alone  there.  Without  his  valet,  packing  had 
assumed  hideous  difficulties.  Guy  de  Brissac  had 
turned  up  and  had  tried  to  help  him.  They  had 
been  interrupted  by  the  apparition  of  Helen  Chudd. 
Everything  remained  to  be  done.  It  was  getting 
late.  He  left  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

The  aspect  of  his  disordered  room  dismayed  him. 
It  showed  him  the  upheaval  of  the  world.  With  his 
well-ordered  tasteful  life  torn  to  pieces,  he  felt  him- 
self a  nonentity,  a  naked  two-legged  creature,  in- 
significant and  impotent.  He  was  starting  out  to 


92  THE  TORTOISE 

war,  with  a  crowd  of  men  naked  and  ugly  all  ex- 
actly like  himself.  There  would  be  no  one  he  knew 
there  in  that  vast  and  horrid  confusion;  there  would 
be  no  one  to  help  him.  He  would  be  alone.  He 
was  going  to  flounder  out  there  and  die  in  some 
horrid  dirty  way. 

His  head  throbbed.  It  was  full  of  annoying  and 
troublesome  ideas  that  he  could  not  sort  out.  Ob- 
viously, his  first  task  was  to  finish  packing.  He 
hung  idly  over  his  box.  What  was  he  to  take  with 
him  to  the  war?  A  lot  of  little  objects,  a  bottle 
of  hair  wash,  a  shaving  stick  and  a  confusion  of 
pleasant  memories. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  very  pleasantness  of 
those  memories  was  a  source  of  weakness  to  him 
now.  Out  of  the  fabric  of  the  past,  he  must  make 
himself  an  armour  for  the  future.  From  what  was 
fine  and  strong  and  durable  in  his  experience,  he 
must  supply  himself  with  a  defensive  covering  for 
his  naked  soul.  He  searched  about  in  his  mind  for 
the  stern  stuff  of  resistance.  For  the  life  of  him 
he  could  think  of  nothing  that  would  bear  the  weight 
of  half  a  dozen  good  blows  of  the  hammer  of  danger 
except  the  image  of  his  mother's  tyrannical  idolatry. 
Out  of  his  mother's  love  he  could  make  himself  a 
shield.  For  the  rest,  he  saw  himself  going  off  tp 
war,  in  an  armoured  suit  made  of  tinsel. 

He  said  to  himself:  "  Suppose  that  I  were  to 
be  afraid.  What  should  I  do  then?"  but  he  could 
not  answer  the  question  and  he  knew  that  he  could 
never  answer  it  until  the  war  was  over.  It  would 


THE  TORTOISE  93 

always  be  there,  hanging  over  him.  He  would 
never  be  sure  that  he  was  not  going  to  turn  coward 
tomorrow.  The  idea  of  disgracing  his  name  made 
him  feel  sick.  He  fell  to  packing  desperately, 
throwing  things  into  his  box  and  pounding  them 
down. 

Certain  kinds  of  danger  he  felt  confident  that  he 
could  meet  with  success.  Anything  in  the  nature  of 
a  hand  to  hand  fight  with  swords  for  instance,  or  a 
sudden  spectacular  attack,  anything  in  fact  that  ap- 
pealed to  his  dramatic  sense  but  what  he  was  not 
sure  of  was  the  stealthy  thing  that  crawled  at  you 
from  behind,  or  the  great  slow  enveloping  thing  that 
covered  you  with  the  desolate  conviction  of  death. 
Suppose  he  were  left  alone  with  a  handful  of  men 
somewhere  in  a  wood,  in  a  field,  behind  a  hill  and 
the  regiment  went  off  and  forgot  them,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  and  no  one  to  communi- 
cate with  and  the  growing  conviction  upon  one  that 
they  were  cut  off.  Could  he  stand  it?  Was  he 
sure  that  something  wouldn't  snap?  and  that  he 
wouldn't  just  —  turn  tail  and  run  like  hell? 

What  was  it  that  kept  men  solid  on  a  quaking 
earth  ?  Pride,  Faith.  A  deep  affection  that  they 
could  not  betray.  His  only  affection,  he  came  back 
to  it  again,  was  his  affection  for  his  mother.  Would 
that  help  him? 

Faith?  In  what?  The  good  God  was  waiting 
for  one  to  die  and  the  saints  with  him  were  waiting 
to  welcome  one.  They  would  hinder  rather  than 
help.  Pride?  He  had  always  believed  he  had 


94  THE  TORTOISE 

enough  of  that  for  anything,  but  what  was  he  proud 
of?  His  name,  the  record  of  his  family,  the  brave 
deeds  of  his  ancestors?  Certainly  he  was  not  proud 
of  anything  that  he  himself  had  done.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  as  necessary  to  earn  self-esteem. 
Suppose  he  was  killed  at  once  before  he  could  do 
something  admirable.  He  would  not  have  one  thing 
to  his  credit  on  the  other  side  of  death  and  would 
leave  no  monument  behind  him.  The  saints  would 
look  at  him  and  say:  "  What  has  he  got  to  show 
for  his  life?  "  And  some  one  would  answer:  "  A 
collection  of  old  Sevres,  some  of  the  finest  '  Rose 
de  Barry  '  in  existence  and  a  chest  full  of  women's 
letters." 

He  gave  a  loud  laugh.  His  desk  was  crammed 
with  letters.  He  must  destroy  them.  Why  under 
heaven  had  he  kept  them  all?  He  had  kept  them 
out  of  vanity.  Some  day  he  had  actually  intended 
reading  them  over. 

Crossing  to  his  secretaire,  he  opened  one  of  its 
drawers  with  a  key.  There  they  were,  neatly  ar- 
ranged in  packets.  They  inspired  him  with  disgust. 
He  saw  himself  at  that  table,  idiotic,  sentimental, 
eternally  answering  the  notes  of  amourous  ladies. 
What  good  would  such  a  man  do  in  a  battle?  His 
eyes  falling  on  his  sword  became  fascinated.  That 
was  to  be  his  best  friend  now.  He  pulled  it  out 
of  its  sheath.  How  was  it  that  he  had  been  taught 
to  manipulate  it?  There  would  be  no  rules  in  this 
duelling.  Suppose  he  were  on  his  horse,  and  the 
German  on  the  ground,  he  could  then  bring  it  down 


THE  TORTOISE  95 

so,  on  the  back  of  the  fellow's  neck.  Suppose  he 
missed  and  the  man  lunged  upward,  got  his  horse  in 
the  belly,  brought  him  down.  On  his  feet  in  the 
melee,  he  must  slash  out.  They  would  be  on  all 
sides  of  him.  He  lunged,  right  and  left.  A  bit 
of  china  fell  to  the  floor,  and  lay  in  pieces.  Ah, 
to  kill,  to  kill,  to  rip  them  open.  Once  one  was 
in  it,  it  would  not  be  so  bad.  He  would  account  for 
his  man  anyway,  the  man  that  was  destined  to  bar 
his  way. —  But  suppose  he  failed.  Suppose  his  nerve 
gave  way,  suppose  he  were  seized  with  panic,  and 
scrambled  on  a  horse,  and  turned  tail,  and  ran  — 

This  was  nonsense.  Here  he  was  like  a  clown, 
brandishing  his  sword  about  and  nothing  was  done. 

He  must  anyhow  tear  up  these  letters.  It  would 
not  be  safe  to  leave  them  there.  One  never  knew. 
He  might  not  come  back.  And  there  was  that 
affair  of  the  farm  that  he  had  decided  to  sell.  He 
must,  positively,  write  to  those  people  and  have  the 
hundred  thousand  francs  by  next  month.  Next 
month  he  might  be  dead.  His  brother  would  get 
the  money. 

He  began  tearing  up  envelopes.  Not  one  of  these 
women  meant  anything  to  him  now.  No  woman  in 
the  world  had  left  with  him,  even  a  feeling  of  loss, 
except  Helen  Chudd,  and  now  Helen  was  here  and 
he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  see  her.  There  were  bills 
to  be  paid  in  that  small  upper  drawer.  He  would 
write  the  cheques  and  leave  them  with  his  mother. 

"  Votre  folle  Jacqueline."  He  looked  absently  at 
those  words  on  the  mauve  sheet  of  note  paper. 


96  THE  TORTOISE 

Who  was  Jacqueline?  He  could  not  remember. 
He  could  remember  no  one,  but  Helen  Chudd.  She 
was  there,  just  across  the  river,  separated  from  him 
by  a  few  streets.  He  remembered  her  precisely  and 
he  saw  her  suddenly  in  her  room  at  the  Meurice, 
waiting  for  him.  He  could  recall  his  own  feeling 
on  seeing  her  for  the  first  time.  He  had  said  to 
himself  in  a  flash:  "There  she  is,"  just  as  if  he 
had  been  expecting  her  all  his  life.  His  inward  ex- 
clamation had  been  a  note  of  triumph.  He  had 
recognized  her  as  the  person  for  whom  all  his  time 
of  selecting  and  scrutinizing  had  been  a  preparation. 

After  that  he  had  seen  her  in  countless  attitudes, 
in  innumerable  settings.  For  a  week  he  had  re- 
frained from  asking  to  be  presented  to  her  and  had 
gone  to  every  place  where  she  was,  just  to  look  at 
her.  He  remembered  the  quality  of  his  inward 
glow  during  that  week.  It  resembled  nothing  so 
much  as  the  golden  glow  of  the  collector  who  has 
discovered  some  priceless  perfect  object  and  is  so 
lost  in  ecstatic  contemplation  that  he  does  not  even 
covet  its  possession. 

She  had  resented  his  behaviour.  He  remembered 
her  glaring  at  him  magnificently.  Subsequently  he 
had  found  himself  confronted  so  often  by  her  long 
back  and  disdainful  averted  head  that  he  had  been 
forced  to  bring  his  blissful  detachment  to  an  end. 
She  had  acknowledged  his  presence  icily  and  had 
conveyed  to  him  the  most  perfect  sense  of  his  own 
impertinence.  That  had  stung  .him.  He  had  been 
near  losing  his  head.  Artifice  had  been  thrown 


THE  TORTOISE  97 

aside.  He  had  plunged  deep,  with  one  leap  into 
the  dark  well  of  her  seduction.  He  had  had  at  mo- 
ments the  feeling  of  drowning.  Her  magnetism 
was  immense. 

She  had  remained  for  him  an  enigma.  Her  cold- 
ness had  conveyed  the  promise  of  immeasurable  won- 
ders. Then  suddenly,  she  had  disappeared.  Now, 
again,  she  was  there.  He  imagined  her  standing 
in  the  ugly  hotel  room,  looking  down  out  across  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  and  the  Tuileries  gardens.  Her  gaze 
was  directed  straight  to  the  spot  where  he  was  sit- 
ting. It  travelled  across  the  dusty  trees,  the  white 
street,  the  slate  roofs.  He  could  see  her  lifted  head, 
her  slightly  dilated  nostrils,  her  pointed  upper  lip. 

"  Helene,"  he  muttered  to  himself. — "  Helene." 
He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  Through  the  open 
windows,  the  bells  of  the  Benedictine  Chapel  came 
pealing.  His  room  with  its  silken  hangings  and 
gleaming  furniture,  all  covered  over  with  the  confu- 
sion of  his  packing,  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  the 
bells.  His  head  throbbed.  He  imagined  Helen's 
voice  speaking  to  him  as  it  had  sometimes  spoken. 
Its  richness  had  a  slight  roughness  that  had  always 
been  to  him  inexpressibly  disturbing.  It  vibrated 
now  in  his  ears:  "  Come  to  me.  I  have  come  to 
fulfil  my  promise.  Come  to  me  before  it  is  too 
late." 

Suddenly,  he  knew  that  all  he  wanted  in  life  was 
to  see  her  once  more.  He  had  been  mad  to  send 
Guy  to  her.  It  was  inevitable  that  he  himself  should 
see  her.  She  had  willed  it. 


98  THE  TORTOISE 

But  Guy  had  gone.  He  was  already  with  her. 
The  thing  was  settled.  He  groaned  aloud. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  could  he  see  her  she  would 
do  him  some  marvellous  good.  He  saw  that  he  had 
missed  something  divine  in  her  that  he  might  have 
found.  He  thought  of  her  soul  and  believed  that 
he  might  have  known  it.  He  recognized  the  beauty 
of  her  coming.  She  had  come  to  give  him  herself 
in  a  superb  and  final  gesture  of  farewell,  that  would 
protect  him  long  after  when  he  was  alone.  Why 
had  he  not  understood  an  hour  ago?  Why  had  he 
never  understood  her?  If  he  had,  he  would  not  be 
lonely  now.  Guy  would  have  told  her  the  lies  they 
had  arranged  between  them.  It  was  indecent  to  lie 
to  her.  Why  not  go  to  her  anyhow,  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  tell  her  the  truth?  And  find  with  her 
in  his  hour  of  imminent  peril  the  wonder  of  wonders 
in  which  he  had  never  believed.  He  should  have 
been  truthful.  He  could  still  be. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  What  —  what  is  it?  "  he  shouted.  "  Come  in. 
What  do  you  want?  " 

"  The  Princess  sends  word  that  dinner  will  be 
served  in  her  boudoir  in  half  an  hour,"  said  old 
Pierre,  sticking  in  his  head. 

"  Dinner?     Half  an  hour?     What  time  is  it?" 

"  It  is  a  quarter  to  eight." 

"No—  Very  well.  Very  well.  Tell  the 
Princess  I'll  be  down  presently." 

He  swept  the  last  scraps  of  paper  into  the  grate. 
So  much  for  old  love  letters.  There  they  were  all 


THE  TORTOISE  99 

of  them,  a  mass  of  little  scented  scraps  of  paper. 
He  touched  a  match  to  them  remembering  too  late 
that  Helen's  note  was  among  the  lot.  She  had  never 
written  him  before.  He  had  nothing  of  hers,  not 
a  souvenir  of  any  kind. 

His  hands  were  very  dirty.  This  annoyed  him. 
He  had  always  taken  great  care  of  his  hands.  He 
remembered  while  cleaning  his  fingernails  (one  was 
torn)  that  he  must  show  Pierre  after  dinner  about 
oiling  the  motor  he  was  leaving  in  the  garage  and 
must  give  him  instructions  about  the  two  ponies  that 
were  to  go  to  the  country.  He  could  do  this  and 
be  at  the  Meurice  by  nine-thirty.  There  would  still 
be  time. 


Ill 


HE  did  not  at  first  see  his  mother  on  entering 
her  boudoir.  Candles  were  lighted  on  the 
chimney  piece  and  a  small  table  was  laid 
for  their  evening  meal.  Her  favourite  chair  was 
drawn  up  to  the  window,  its  high  silken  back  half 
turned  to  the  door.  It  was  a  stiff,  but  commodious 
armchair  of  the  Louis  XVI  period  with  rounded  side- 
pieces  curving  out  to  enclose  its  occupant,  and  round 
the  edge  of  one  of  these  his  mother  invariably  turned 
with  a  bobbing  duck  of  her  head  to  greet  him  when 
he  opened  the  door.  Now  with  a  slight  tremor  of 
apprehension  he  noticed  the  absence  of  the  familiar 
amusing  gesture.  She  was  there,  he  ascertained  a 
moment  later,  but  she  had  fallen  asleep  and  had 
slid  down  into  a  crumpled  heap  against  the  stiff 
brocaded  back  of  her  chair.  Her  head  had  fallen 
to  one  side,  and  rested  against  the  worn  golden  wood 
of  one  of  its  curved  wings.  The  relaxation  of  her 
usual  rigid  pose  appeared  to  have  dislocated  her 
body.  Her  thin  limbs  lay  together  lifeless  and  dis- 
jointed under  the  black  covering  of  her  merciful 
clothes.  He  had  the  feeling  that  if  he  lifted  her 
up  in  his  arms,  she  would  fall  to  pieces. 

He  leaned  over  her;  fearfully  approaching  his 
lips  to  her  white  hair.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Never  had  he  seen  her  so  exposed  in  all  the  defence- 

100 


THE  TORTOISE  101 

less  unattractiveness  of  her  old  age.  Sleep  had 
stolen  from  her  the  disguise  of  her  dignity.  She 
was  a  pitiful  old  woman.  His  heart  ached  for  her. 

Under  the  pressure  of  his  lips,  she  started,  quiver- 
ing. Her  eyes  opened.  She  turned  her  head,  look- 
ing up  from  the  black  depths  of  her  dreams,  in  terror. 
"  Oh  —  oh !  "  she  cried  softly  and  made  little  quick 
whimpering  sounds.  Her  shaking  hands  clutched 
him. 

"  C'est  toi,"  she  whimpered;  "  c'est  toi." 

He  kissed  her  forehead  and  she  leaned  it  against 
his  coat  for  a  moment.  Never  had  he  seen  her  like 
this.  She  was  like  a  little  frightened  child,  and  yet 
how  old  she  was!  Her  lean  old  fingers  travelled 
round  his  head  like  the  fingers  of  a  blind  woman. 

"  Yes,  little  mother.     I  have  come  for  dinner." 

She  sat  up,  half  pushing  him  away. 

"  I  have  been  dreaming,  such  dreadful  dreams." 

Her  voice  had  hardened  suddenly.  She  dismissed 
him  and  them  and  her  weakness  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand.  Her  hand  was  transformed.  It  had  im- 
plored his  comfort  like  a  blind  frightened  thing  a 
minute  before;  it  was  now  an  imperious  hand  accus- 
tomed to  being  obeyed.  He  obeyed  it  and  moved 
away,  taking  his  stand  in  front  of  the  chimney  be- 
tween the  two  lighted  candelabras,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room.  The  moment  of  his  walking  three 
steps  with  his  back  to  her  had  been  enough.  Look- 
ing again  he  observed  that  a  miracle  was  accom- 
plished. She  sat  bolt  upright  and  her  black  eyes 
gleaming  out  at  him  challenged  him  to  an  admission 


io2  THE  TORTOISE 

of  weakness,  either  his,  or  hers.  Her  will  working 
like  the  invisible  artist  behind  the  scene  of  the 
guignol  had  pulled  the  necessary  strings.  Her  fea- 
tures and  her  limbs  were  in  place  again.  He  felt 
like  applauding.  The  word  "  Bravo "  sounded 
within  him. 

She  pointed  a  long  finger.  "  Ring  for  dinner  to 
be  served,"  she  commanded;  and  actually,  as  she 
said  the  words,  her  long  arm  outstretched,  the 
shadow  of  the  ghost  of  her  beauty  fell  upon  her. 

"  How  she  must  have  ruled  them,"  he  thought 
as  he  did  her  bidding,  and  he  looked  round  the 
crowded  walls  of  the  faded  shining  room  as  if  ap- 
pealing to  all  those  silent  witnesses  of  her  glory  that 
looked  out  from  their  little  golden  frames.  The 
pale  silken  panels  of  the  room  were  studded  with 
miniatures,  so  many  of  them,  so  close  together  on 
the  lustrous  surface,  that  the  place  had  the  air  of  a 
jewelled  casket.  He  knew  them  all.  They  had 
been  named  to  him  in  his  childhood.  Some  of  them 
he  had  seen  in  the  flesh,  but  not  those  by  whom  he 
had  been  the  most  impressed.  For  years  during 
his  boyhood  he  had  had  personal  relations  with  the 
little  exquisite  people.  He  had  had  feelings  of 
reverence  for  the  proud-nosed  men  in  white  wigs ;  he 
had  been  sentimental  about  some  of  the  pretty  la- 
dies. When  during  his  studies  he  came  upon  their 
names  in  the  history  of  his  country,  he  had  often  had 
a  glow  of  pride  or  of  friendliness,  or  sometimes  of 
mortification.  It  had  been  noticeable  and  sometimes 
confusing  that  the  facts  concerning  them  as  told  by 


THE  TORTOISE  103 

his  mother  and  as  recounted  by  historians  did  not 
always  corroborate  each  other.  His  great  great- 
uncle,  a  cardinal,  had  had  his  ears  cut  off  during 
the  Revolution.  The  fact  was  nowhere  denied,  but 
its  causes  and  the  motive  attributed  to  it  were  va- 
rious and  contradictory.  On  the  whole  he  had  gath- 
ered the  impression  that  his  innumerable  ancestors 
and  relations  had  been  almost  constantly  getting  into 
trouble,  and  that  between  them,  what  with  their 
scope  of  influence  in  the  Church  and  with  the  Crown 
and  among  the  embassies  of  foreign  countries,  they 
had  found  a  wide  field  for  making  it.  They  seemed 
to  have  been  arrogant,  restless  people,  with  now  and 
then  flashes  of  extraordinary  brilliance.  The 
women,  some  of  them  beautiful,  had  not  always  been 
circumspect.  Several  had  died  violent  deaths. 
One,  the  prettiest,  had  been  given  poison,  it  was 
alleged,  by  her  own  husband,  who  had  refused  to 
allow  her  to  accept  the  favours  of  the  king.  They 
now  looked  bland  enough  in  their  minute  and  pol- 
ished elegance.  Their  portraits  on  ivory,  some  of 
them  in  oval  frames  studded  with  pearls,  repre- 
sented a  large  sum  of  money.  His  mother  had  had 
very  generous  offers  for  the  collection;  she  would 
leave  it,  the  collection,  to  him  and  he  was  to  leave 
it  in  turn  to  the  museum  of  the  Louvre. 

He  thought  vaguely  of  all  these  people,  while  he 
waited  for  dinner.  On  the  whole,  the  soldiers  in 
his  family  had  the  best  record.  The  churchmen 
had  amassed  fortunes,  and  the  diplomats  had  spent 
them.  The  men  who  had  gone  to  war  had  won 


104  THE  TORTOISE 

glory.  He  was  going  to  war  the  next  morning. 
He  would  take  a  ticket  and  get  on  the  train  — 

"  Henriette  came  to  see  me,"  his  mother  was  say- 
ing. 

"Henriette?     Who  is  Henriette?" 

"  Your  cousin,  Henriette  de  Vaumont." 

"  The  ugly  old  maid  with  the  crooked  face?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  must  be  unkind  about  the  excellent 
creature.  She  leaves  for  Alsace  tomorrow.  She 
belongs  to  a  group  of  nurses  who  go  to  the  army  at 
once." 

"  But  Alsace  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Germans." 

"  It  has  been  for  some  time,  but  they  don't  think 
it  will  be  for  much  longer." 

"  I  see,  Henriette  de  Vaumont  is  going  to  occupy 
Alsace.  Well,  she's  nearly  big  enough  to  do  it.  If 
she  put  out  one  foot  and  stepped  — " 

"  You're  not  nice.     She  has  a  heart  of  gold." 

"  I've  no  doubt." 

"  And  I  wish  I  were  going  with  her." 

He  gaped:     "What?" 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  thinking  of  doing  something  like 
it.  I  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  organize  a  hos- 
pital. One  must  have  an  occupation,"  she  added 
grimly. 

"Seriously?" 

"  Seriously." 

"Where?" 

"  Here,  I  shall  turn  all  the  ground  floor  into  wards 
for  the  wounded." 

"  But  you  have  had  no  experience  in  such  things." 


THE  TORTOISE  105 

"  I  shall  learn." 

"  You  will  fatigue  yourself  terribly." 

"  Yes,  perhaps;  I  expect  that." 

He  continued  to  gape  at  her.  She  was  surprising, 
she  was  admirable,  she  was  obstinate,  she  was  in- 
credibly pathetic. 

u  But  you  are  no  longer  young,  dear  mother, 
and  you  have  never  done  anything  like  this,"  he  ven- 
tured. 

"  As  I  say,  one  must  find  new  occupations,"  she 
rejoined  irritably.  "  One  must  begin  again." 

"  But  I  hope  your  life  will  not  be  so  very  different, 
after  all." 

She  silenced  him:  "You  will  not  be  there,"  she 
said  shortly. 

He  was  glad  of  the  grimness  in  her  voice.  His 
feeling  was  one  of  immense  relief.  He  knew  that  he 
could  rely  upon  her  to  protest  with  all  her  being 
against  his  annihilation  and  her  own  fear  for  him. 
She  appeared  to  him  powerfully  real.  She  was  not 
only  splendid  and  touching,  she  was  also  a  guarantee 
and  a  protection.  He  saw  her  rising  up  in  her 
gaunt  old  age,  to  protect  him,  to  dispute  him  with 
death,  to  exorcise  from  his  path  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness. 

"  You,  my  child,  will  worry  yourself  less  about 
me  if  you  know  I  am  occupied,"  he  heard  her  say. 
He  understood  that  her  effort  was  for  him,  more 
than  for  herself,  and  something  sublime  in  her  love 
for  him  touched  him  now,  for  the  first  time. 

Old  Pierre  bringing  in  a  fried  sole  on  a  platter 


io6  THE  TORTOISE 

and  a  dusty  bottle  of  Burgundy  announced  that  the 
Princess  was  served.  They  sat  down  opposite  one 
another  at  the  small  table.  He  touched  her  hand 
across  it  and  watched  the  fleeting  sweetness  of  her 
answering  smile  play  hide  and  seek  through  the  bit- 
ter wrinkles  of  her  withered  face. 

Beyond  the  long  window,  the  sultry  day  died 
slowly,  reluctantly,  as  if  sickening  to  death  with  fore- 
boding. Above  the  treetops  of  the  breathless  en- 
closed garden  that  was  like  a  well,  the  sky  was  aglow 
with  the  lights  of  the  city,  that  seemed  far  distant. 
The  occasional  hoot  of  a  far  away  motor  was  the 
only  sound  that  broke  the  stillness. 

Confronted  by  food  St.  Christe  had  a  feeling  of 
suffocation.  It  was  impossible  to  eat.  He  thought 
to  himself:  "This  house  is  like  a  prison  on  an 
island."  He  wanted  suddenly  to  get  out  on  the 
boulevards  and  feel  the  crowd  jostling  him.  He 
thought  of  Helen  waiting.  Maybe  she  was  no 
longer  waiting.  She  seemed  very  far  away.  He 
wondered  how  he  could  get  to  her  without  alarming 
his  mother.  He  must  invent  some  imperative  er- 
rand. 

"You  had  no  disturbing  news  this  afternoon?" 
asked  the  princess. 

"  No,  nothing;  a  note  from  a  friend,  of  no  im- 
portance. "  He  felt  himself  flushing.  He  im- 
agined that  her  eyes  were  reading  his  thoughts. 
Their  burning  gaze  penetrated  him  uncomfortably, 
but  his  mind  dodged  her  idea  and  continued  its  dan- 
gerous imaginings. 


THE  TORTOISE  107 

If  Helen  had  been  free,  he  would  have  married 
her.  Strange  that  he  had  never  thought  of  that  be- 
fore. He  had  never  wanted  to  marry.  —  Wives 
had  always  been  connected  in  his  mind  with  settle- 
ments and  the  ordered  business  of  founding  a  family. 
Marriage  he  had  thought  tiresome  and  he  had 
chosen  not  to  be  tired.  To  his  mother's  argument 
in  favour  of  the  institution  he  had  always  replied 
that  as  he  was  not  the  head  of  the  family  and  she 
had  already  four  grandchildren  and  as  he  knew  that 
she  liked  to  have  him  to  herself  just  as  he  was,  he 
could  not  take  her  too  seriously.  She  had  not  in- 
sisted; she  had  even  admitted  that  another  daughter- 
in-law  would  add  nothing  to  her  happiness. 

But  if  he  had  a  wife  and  children  now,  he  would 
feel  less  lonely.  Had  he  been  given  a  son  to  survive 
him,  death  would  not  be  final.  He  would  not  be  so 
soon  forgotten.  Another  Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe, 
the  image  of  himself,  made  of  the  stuff  of  his  own 
life,  would  continue  to  live  on  the  earth. 

He  looked  at  his  mother  with  the  words  on  his 
lips:  "  I  ought  to  have  married,  "  but  he  saw  that 
she  was  agitated  and  refrained. 

"  What  is  it,  my  mother?  "  he  asked  caressingly. 

"  Nothing,  nothing.  " 

"  But  yes,  there  is  something,  tell  me." 

"  Well,  it  is  that  note.  Pierre  brought  it  to  me, 
and  I  feel  you  are  hiding  something  from  me.  " 

His  heart  sank.  He  realized  that  long  ago  he 
had  prepared  by  his  minute  confidences  this  little  un- 
welcome moment.  Her  jealousy  had  in  the  past 


io8  THE  TORTOISE 

amused  him.  He  had  pampered  it.  Tonight  was 
no  time  for  taking  a  stand  against  it. 

"  Foolish  mother.  It  was  a  note  from  a  friend 
who  has  arrived  from  London,  and  who  wanted  to 
see  me.  You  have  met  her,  Madame  Chudd.  " 

"Ah,  the  Englishwoman." 

He  was  startled  by  the  fierce  shuddering  breath 
that  carried  the  words. 

"  Yes,  she  is  English." 

"  You  thought  her  beautiful." 

"  She  is  indeed  very  beautiful." 

"  I  did  not,  as  I  remember,  agree  with  you  about 
her  beauty." 

"  No?     I  thought  you  rather  admired  her." 

"  On  the  contrary." 

He  hesitated.  His  mother  had  been  speaking 
with  what  seemed  to  him  unnecessary  energy.  He 
felt  the  need  of  being  cautious. 

"  As  for  that,"  he  resumed  mildly  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  our  respective  tastes  in  beauty  have  not  al- 
ways coincided.  It  has  amused  us  to  differ." 

"On  this  occasion  I  was  not  amused;  I  disliked 
the  English  woman  intensely." 

"  That,"  he  replied  quickly,  "  you  never  told  me." 
Under  the  sting  of  her  remark  he  had  flushed  again, 
but  this  time  hotly. 

"  No,"  she  went  on,  rapping  out  her  words  as  if 
with  a  hammer.  "  I  saw  that  you  were  very  ab- 
sorbed; you  chose  to  go  so  far  as  to  bring  her  to  this 
house.  I  understood  that  any  advice  from  me  would 
have  been  useless." 


THE  TORTOISE  109 

"  You  mean  that  you  would  have  warned  me 
against  her?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  dangerous." 

They  were  both  silent.  He  was  confused  and  dis- 
turbed. What  disturbed  him  most  was  that  his 
mother  had  voiced  with  conviction  just  the  same 
fear  that  he  himself  had  had.  Helen  was  dan- 
gerous; he  agreed,  but  he  had  had  no  idea  that  his 
mother  thought  about  her  or  even  remembered  her. 
Her  prejudice  and  her  awakened  suspicions  seemed 
to  him  formidable  things  with  which  to  have  to  deal. 
She  was  terribly  strong  at  all  times,  and  now  she  had 
the  added  weapon  of  her  imminent  loss  of  him.  He 
was  too  sorry  for  her  to  dare  to  hurt  her,  and  he 
thought :  "  Tomorrow  morning  she  will  wake  up, 
again,  frightened,  like  a  little  child,  as  she  did  an 
hour  ago.  And  I  will  be  gone." 

His  face  was  clouded  over  and  she  watched  his 
face  with  the  eyes  of  a  hawk,  her  waxen  cheeks 
growing  more  waxen,  the  lines  about  her  withered 
mouth  deepening.  Strange,  that  she  did  not  leave 
him  alone,  she  who  knew  him  so  well,  and  every  ex- 
pressive line  and  every  tell-tale  hue  of  his  flushing 
sensitive  skin.  She  might  have  trusted  him  to  be 
good  to  her  as  he  had  never  failed  to  be,  but  she  was 
impelled  to  go  on  prodding  him. 

"It  was  so  surprising  your  bringing  her  to  lunch. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  very  civil.  As  for  that, 
she  assumed  my  cordiality;  I  but  followed  her  lead." 

He  winced.  She  saw  him  wince  and  her  eyes 
gleamed. 


no  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Her  manner,"  she  began  again. 

But  he  was  by  now  exasperated. 

"  Her  manner,"  he  broke  in,  "  was  perfect." 
And  then  more  lamely  he  added : 

"  Yvonne  admired  her." 

"  As  much  as  one  can  admire  any  one  so  much  un- 
like oneself." 

"  You  think  her  so  very  unlike  us?  " 

"  Enormously." 

"  Well,"  he  cried  in  a  new  burst  of  courage,  "  she 
is  unlike  any  one  and  every  one.  Put  it  that  there  is 
no  one  like  her  and  I'll  agree  with  you." 

At  the  fervour  of  this  declaration  the  Princess 
shuddered  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  seemed  to 
shrink  in  size,  her  features  trembled  and  appeared 
about  to  decompose. 

"My  poor  child,"  she  whispered;  "my  poor 
child." 

He  took  her  hands,  both  of  them,  in  his  own 
across  the  table,  bringing  his  face  close  to  hers.  He 
was  not  sure  that  this  last  weakness  was  genuine. 
He  suspected  her  of  acting  a  part.  He  felt  that  she 
was  playing  on  him  too  cleverly. 

"  I  loved  her,"  he  said  with  a  slow  deliberate  dis- 
tinctness. "  She  is  wonderful,  I  still  love  her." 

Her  eyelids  flickered  and  were  lifted  above  her 
near  staring  eyes,  that  met  his  defiantly. 

"  She  would  have  ruined  you." 

"How?" 

"  She  would  have  made  a  scandal.  Unheard  of 
things  would  have  happened." 


THE  TORTOISE  in 

"  What  things?  " 

"  Her  husband  would  have  divorced  her." 

They  stared  at  each  other. —  It  was  after  all  his 
eyes  that  wavered. 

"  You  mean?  "  he  hesitated — "  you  think — " 

"  I  know,"  she  announced  with  finality. 

He  left  her  at  that  abruptly  and  began  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  feeling  nervously  all  the  while 
that  her  triumphant  eyes  followed  him.  He  had  a 
sense  of  defeat  and  extreme  depression.  Old  Pierre 
came  and  went,  dismally,  clearing  the  table.  His 
jerky  disconsolate  movements,  his  shaking  head  and 
wheezing  lungs,  were  annoying.  At  last  he  brought 
in  the  coffee  and  went  away  closing  the  door  after 
him. 

There  was  no  longer  any  shimmer  of  twilight  be- 
yond the  window.  The  dreadful  breathless  day  had 
been  swallowed  up  forever  and  the  swift  rolling 
blackness  of  night  was  hurrying  the  world  to  disaster. 
The  little  shining  room  was  close  as  an  air  tight  box. 
All  about  it  was  the  oppression  of  darkness,  and 
war;  beyond  and  above  the  dark,  was  looming  higher 
and  higher,  a  vast  and  terrific  cloud  that  would  burst 
on  the  morrow.  St.  Christe  shuddered.  He 
had  a  vision  of  the  thing  crashing  upon  that  room 
like  an  unnatural  tempest,  a  monstrous  bolt  of  de- 
struction that  would  crush  the  frail  treasures  to  pow- 
der. His  mind  struggled  under  the  weight  of  his 
apprehension.  Each  thought  was  a  thin  streamer, 
weighted  with  lead,  that  fell  like  a  plummet  into  the 
depths  of  his  hopelessness.  What  good  would  it  do 


ii2  THE  TORTOISE 

to  struggle  against  the  dreadful  old  tyranny  of  his 
mother,  when  the  morning  waited  to  consume  him? 
Of  what  use  fighting  for  an  hour's  freedom  when  to- 
morrow he  would  be  a  slave  of  a  power  a  thousand 
times  more  imperious  than  her  own? 

He  felt  something  precious  slipping  from  him. 
Was  it  his  soul  that  was  escaping  him?  He  did  not 
know,  but  he  dared  not  look  at  his  mother,  lest  he 
look  at  her  with  anger,  and  he  dared  not  think  of 
Helen,  for  fear  of  being  ashamed.  The  crisis  had 
come  and  had  passed,  and  he  had  scarcely  recognized 
it,  but  he  knew  vaguely  and  obscurely  and  deeply  that 
he  had  missed  something  sublime  that  life  had  of- 
fered him  on  the  evening  of  death. 

As  if  across  an  infinite  distance  he  heard  his 
mother's  voice  speaking.  It  sounded  to  him  like  the 
mimical  echoing  voice  of  a  malicious  ghost. 

"  Your  father  liked  England,  but  he  liked  it  so  to 
speak  in  the  open.  He  used  to  say  that  in  a  country 
where  duelling  was  prohibited  and  divorce  accepted, 
drawing  room  manners  were  bound  to  be  bad." 

And  he  heard  himself  answering  absurdly  and 
peevishly,  as  if  indeed  there  were  any  need  to  say 
any  more. 

"  You  actually  thought  then  that  Helen  Chudd 
had  bad  manners?"  and  heard  again  the  faint  voice 
remonstrate:  "  Must  you  be  so  personal,  my  son?" 

Then,  suddenly  when  it  was  too  late,  he  broke 
through  the  unreality,  the  subterfuge,  the  make-be- 
lieve. He  cried  out  and  heard  himself  shouting  and 
he  knew  that  it  would  be  no  good: 


THE  TORTOISE  113 

"  But  this  is  a  personal  matter  to  me." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is  that  it  had  better  cease 
being  so."  She  was  invincible.  He  could  not  even 
frighten  her. 

He  turned  to  her  now  in  despair.  Let  her  see 
then,  that  she  had  won. 

She  saw.  His  face  was  one  of  defeat  and  his 
eyes  had  a  look  of  boyish  suffering  that  implored  her 
compassion. 

"  This  is  no  moment  for  personal  matters,"  she 
said  more  softly.  And  then  with  one  of  her  beauti- 
ful gestures:  "What  of  my  personal  need  of  you? 
My  son,  my  son!  Am  I  not  giving  you  up  for 
ever?"  She  held  out  her  two  long  hands.  Her 
face  was  working  strangely.  He  saw  her  eyes  blurr 
over.  The  sight  of  her  tears  was  ugly  and  terrible. 
He  went  to  her  swiftly  and  knelt  beside  her.  This 
time,  he  was  certain  that  she  was  not  acting. 

He  felt  weak  and  ashamed.  He  knew  that  she 
had  tyrannized  over  him  finally  and  completely,  but 
his  compassion  for  her  made  him  forgive  her.  He 
buried  his  face  in  her  lap. 

Late  that  night,  his  packing  finished,  his  uniform 
laid  out  for  the  morrow,  his  last  letters  written  and 
his  instructions  given,  he  sat  by  her  bedside  stroking 
her  hand  and  watching  her  deathlike  face  on  the  pil- 
low, yellow  as  wax,  in  the  candlelight.  And  as  he 
waited  for  her  to  go  to  sleep,  he  thought  of  Helen 
as  a  phenomenal  apparition  of  beauty  that  had  very 
nearly  led  him  into  disgrace  and  ruin.  The  spas- 
modic clutch  of  the  thin  fingers  round  his  hand  told 


ii4  THE  TORTOISE 

him  this,  and  the  disdainful  arch  of  the  high  nose  on 
the  pillow  seemed  to  mock  his  regrets.  He  was  go- 
ing to  the  war  to  fulfil  the  pride  of  that  battered 
queenly  head.  The  future  was  no  more  than  this  to 
him  now,  but  he  said  to  himself  that  this  must  be  and 
would  be  enough. 


IV 


GUY  DE  BRISSAC  was  accomplished  in  dif- 
ficult  situations.     His    friends   often   sent 
him   on  delicate  missions  to   their  ladies. 
He  was  reputed,  never  to  bungle  anything.    His  tact 
was  equal  to  his  loyalty  and  when  trusted  with  the  re- 
sponsibility of  a  cunning  fib  he  could  be  counted  upon 
to  transmit  the  falsehood  with  perfect  faithfulness 
and  with  a  tender  sincerity  that  could  not  so  much 
as  bruise  the  finest,  most  sensitive  skin  of  feminine 
vanity. 

He  nevertheless  approached  the  Hotel  Meurice 
with  far  less  than  his  usual  self-confidence.  His 
memory  of  Mrs.  Chudd,  met  a  dozen  times  at  lunch- 
eons and  dinners,  was  vivid  enough  to  warn  him  that 
in  her  case,  vanity  would  play  no  part,  and  that  he 
had  a  bigger  thing  to  deal  with  than  the  petulance 
of  a  lady's  pique.  He  was  not  sure  what  she  would 
do,  and  he  liked  always  to  know  beforehand  how 
people  would  behave.  It  caused  him  a  feeling  of 
acute  discomfort  to  see  any  one  give  themselves  away. 
It  was  possible  that  this  haughty  Englishwoman 
would  shock  him  by  some  unnecessary  display  of 
emotion.  He  had  admired  her  less  than  had  St. 
Christe.  Brissac  liked  above  all  things  to  be 
amused  and  he  had  not  found  her  amusing.  Her 
wit,  if  she  had  any,  could  not  deal  with  the  light  in- 
ns 


n6  THE  TORTOISE 

tricacies  of  the  French  tongue.  Her  beauty,  he  had 
of  course  appreciated,  but  it  had  left  him  cold.  She 
had  the  finest  shoulders  in  the  world  and  for  an 
Englishwoman  her  hands  and  feet  were  good.  As 
for  her  colouring  it  was  startling  enough  with  its 
clear  coppery  skin  and  golden  hair.  Indeed  it  was 
too  startling.  To  Jocelyn's  enthusiasm  he  had  re- 
plied that  he  liked  soft  shades  and  elusive  lines  and 
the  beauty  that  escaped  the  vulgar  eye ;  that  he  liked 
being  charmed  without  knowing  why  and  did  not  en- 
joy being  knocked  on  the  head  by  any  dazzling  bolt. 
His  remarks  had,  he  admitted  to  himself  now,  been 
even  more  critical  than  his  thoughts.  Jocelyn's  in- 
fatuation had  annoyed  him  and  made  him  uncom- 
fortable. It  had  gone  too  far.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  give  himself  infinite  pains  to  keep  the  two 
of  them  from  becoming  the  talk  of  the  town.  If 
their  names  were  not  fatally  coupled  together,  it  was 
due  to  his  own  untiring  efforts,  nothing  else.  Joce- 
lyn  toward  the  end  had  behaved  like  a  child.  He 
had  done  all  those  things  that  are  not  permitted, 
and  none,  it  appeared,  that  were.  Instead  of  taking 
tea  in  her  drawing-room  from  five  to  seven,  he  had 
spent  whole  days  alone  with  her  in  the  country,  rid- 
ing blandly  out  through  the  Meudon  Wood,  the  two 
of  them  on  a  couple  of  horses,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  riding  back  again  at  seven. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he,  de  Brissac,  had  not  believed 
in  her  ignorance  of  conventions.  He  had  suspected 
her  of  a  deliberate  plan,  or  at  least  of  a  desperate 
daring.  Her  husband  was  probably  a  brute  who 


THE  TORTOISE  117 

had  driven  her  crazy.  Maybe  he  had  turned  her  out 
of  the  house.  Englishmen  did  these  things.  If  so, 
the  scene  awaiting  him  would  be  nothing  less  than 
horrible. 

He  was  told  at  the  desk  that  she  was  in  her 
apartment  and  that  he  could  mount.  Halfway  up  in 
the  lift  he  realized  with  a  heightening  of  his  nerv- 
ousness that  the  sleek  gentleman  behind  the  counter 
had  murmured  something  about  his  being  expected. 

He  knocked  at  the  door,  with  a  feeling  of  intense 
distaste,  straining  his  ears  as  if  about  to  surprise 
some  painful  secret  sound,  and  it  came;  nothing 
secret  or  tragic  in  its  audible  joyous  note  for  one  who 
did  not  know  of  the  trick  that  was  being  played  upon 
her,  but  to  him  the  culprit,  more  horrible  in  its  me- 
lodious ring  of  exultant  command,  than  any  whimper 
or  wail. 

"  Entrez !  "  came  the  strong  ecstatic  voice;  and 
then  as  he  opened  the  door,  during  the  seconds  he 
took  to  round  the  edge  of  the  protecting  screen,  he 
heard  her  swift  feet  running  toward  him  across  the 
carpet,  and  the  swish  of  silken  clothes  and  the  intake 
of  hurried  breath. 

He  thought:  "  In  one  second  she  will  be  in  my 
arms."  He  rounded  the  obstruction.  She  was  all 
but  upon  him,  close,  oh  terribly  close,  yet  not  too 
close  to  stop  dead,  her  hands  outstretched,  her 
body  slanting  forward.  He  held  his  breath,  and 
holding  it,  he  had  time  to  see  it  all,  her  glorious 
blighted  movement  of  welcome  exposed  there  before 
his  eyes,  and  the  light  on  her  face  before  it  died  out, 


n8  THE  TORTOISE 

leaving  in  its  place  a  stony  astonishment  that  made 
him  quail. 

He  felt  the  blood  of  shame  on  his  face,  and  as  he 
watched  her  miserably  fascinated,  he  realized  that 
he  had  committed  an  outrage.  He  had  caught  her 
waving  her  beautiful  passion  like  a  sunlit  banner  be- 
fore him  and  he  saw  her  draw  together  those  lumin- 
ous folds  and  wind  herself  in  them  as  if  in  a  shroud. 
He  could  not  speak.  He  watched  her  blanch,  and 
quiver.  Her  nostrils  dilated.  Her  eyes  stared, 
wider  and  deeper  than  eyes  should  be  permitted  to 
stare. 

He  believed  in  her  now. 

She  said,  dropping  her  arms  to  her  sides,  as  if  a 
spring  in  her  shoulders  had  snapped  and  swung1 
them  down : 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  some  one  else."  And  then 
frankly  with  a  lift  of  the  head  daring  him  to  mock 
her,  disdaining  the  confusion  of  subterfuge,  she 
added  abruptly:  "  I  was  expecting  Monsieur  de  St. 
Christe,  I  sent  him  a  note." 

"  Yes,  I  know.     It  was  for  that,  that  I  came." 

"He  sent  you?" 

"  No.  I  received  the  note.  St.  Christe  has 
gone." 

He  had  not  intended  any  abrupt  speech  of  this 
kind,  certainly  never  in  his  worst  nightmares  had  he 
imagined  himself  an  assassin  or  a  butcher,  but  her 
question  had  precipitated  the  bold  lie,  and  the  loath- 
ing of  his  task  that  had  seized  him  in  her  presence 


THE  TORTOISE  119 

had  urged  him  to  make  short  work  of  the  nasty 
business  and  get  himself  away. 

She  echoed  the  word  "  gone  "  and  looked  at  him, 
and  he  felt  under  that  look  as  if  he  were  literally 
and  visibly  breaking  out  into  a  cold  perspiration. 

"  Gone?  " — "  When?  "  she  asked  strangely. 

"  An  hour  ago,"  he  blurted  out  with  a  sense  of 
imbecile  clumsiness. 

"  You  mean  that  I'm  too  late?  " 

He  shuddered  for  her,  and  manoeuvred  to  shield 
her,  from  his  own  indelicate  knowledge  of  what  she 
was  feeling. 

"  If  you  mean  too  late  to  see  him?     Yes." 

She  took  it  in  silence,  staring  and  he  perceived  all 
at  once  that  she  had  ceased  to  see  him.  She  simply 
forgot  him  there  as  he  (at  least  so  he  felt) 
cringed  before  her.  She  might  have  been  made  of 
bronze,  so  motionless  was  she.  Nothing  about  her 
moved,  not  a  fold  of  her  brown  silk  garments,  not  a 
finger  in  her  still  hands  that  pointed  down  to  the 
floor.  Her  eyes  remained  wide  open,  the  eyelids 
fixed.  He  found  the  sight  unbearable  and  began : 

"  I  had  just  been  to  see  him  off  at  the  station  and 
went  back  to  attend  to  his  things  and  I  found  your 
note.  He  had  asked  me  to  answer  any  letters. 
Things  had  been  left  in  confusion;  I  thought  it  best 
to  come.  I  dared  to  present  myself.  Pray  accept 
my  excuses.  I  understood  at  the  desk  downstairs 
that  they  had  announced  me." 

"  It  is  most  kind  of  you,"  she  murmured. 


THE  TORTOISE 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  but  she  stopped  him 
with  a  gesture  that  hooked  him  like  a  wriggling  fish. 

"  Please  give  me  the  note,  mine." 

He  stammered:  "I  —  I  am  afraid  I  did  not 
bring  it  with  me." 

"  You  read  it  and  threw  it  away?  "  she  asked 
quietly,  oh  very  quietly. 

'  Yes,  I  read  it  and  threw  it  away,  or  rather  I 
should  say,  I  left  it  there  on  his  table." 

"  And  came  straight  here?  " 

"  And  came  straight  here." 

"  It  was  most  kind  of  you."  she  repeated.  This 
time  she  allowed  him  to  move  two  steps  across  the 
carpet.  It  was  his  own  nervousness  that  stopped 
him. 

"  Jocelyn  will  be  chagrined,"  he  mumbled. 

"  Ah !  "  She  lifted  again  her  curious  eyes. 
"  You  mean  when  he  knows?  " 

"  Yes,  when  he  hears." 

"  You  will  be  seeing  him  perhaps?  " 

"  But  surely;  tomorrow." 

"  You  join  him?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

"  We  are  in  the  same  cavalry  regiment." 

"  I  see."  She  pondered.  And  suddenly  he  saw 
his  blunder.  Did  she  suspect,  he  asked  himself  mis- 
erably. He  had  a  sense  of  panic  but  she  gave  no 
sign.  Her  manner  expressed  nothing  as  she  lifted 
her  eyes  again,  but  this  time  she  scrutinized  him 
coldly  and  he  felt  her  gaze  penetrate  him  icily. 

"  I  see,"  she  repeated.  "  You  are  in  the  same 
regiment,  but  he  went  ahead." 


THE  TORTOISE  121 

"  A  different  company,"  he  articulated,  writhing 
as  if  pierced  through  by  the  icicle  of  her  stare. 

"  I  see,"  she  said  again  and  he  was  sure  now  that 
he  caught  a  new  glitter  in  her  strange  eyes.  She  re- 
mained silent,  and  he,  half  hypnotized  by  that  pro- 
foundly pondering  face,  waited,  and  as  he  waited  he 
realized  that  though  she  had  not  moved,  her  atti- 
tude and  the  hue  of  her  attitude  had  changed.  She 
seemed  to  him  like  some  proud  stricken  animal  of  the 
wilds,  some  fleet  and  beautiful  creature  of  the  woods 
or  prairies  terrified  and  transfixed  and  helpless,  wait- 
ing for  the  wound  that  would  kill  it.  He  saw  now 
that  this  had  been  an  illusion.  He  detected  flashes, 
signs  that  suggested  anger  magnificently  held;  he 
felt  that  if  she  were  actually  a  deer  or  some  antlered 
creature,  instead  of  a  human  being  in  brown  dra- 
peries, he  would  be  in  danger  of  his  life.  She  would 
roll  him  at  her  feet  and  trample  on  him  with  her 
beautiful  hoofs  and  transfix  him  with  her  horns. 
Yet  she  had  not  moved  and  all  his  terror  and  foolish 
imagery  was  gathered  from  her  eyes,  that  were 
blazing  upon  him,  glittering,  freezing. 

Then  all  at  once  she  let  him  go.  Deliberately 
she  turned  away  and  over  her  shoulder  said 
casually: 

"  It  was  most  good  of  you  to  come.  Tell  him 
how  sorry  I  was  to  miss  him." 

He  gained  the  door.  "  I  will  certainly  do  so," 
and  then  idiotically  as  it  seemed  to  him  he  added. 
"  Jocelyn  will  be  grateful  for  a  message." 

"  Give  him  my  very  best  wishes  of  course.     May 


122  THE  TORTOISE 

you  both  —  be  spared  to  do  the  brave  deeds  that  be- 
come you  so  well." 

He  could  only  mumble  inarticulately  as  he  got  him- 
self out,  but  beyond  the  closed  door,  his  escape  as- 
sured, he  thought  that  he  heard  her  laugh.  He  was 
not  sure  of  that  sound  and  knew  as  he  ran  to  the  lift 
that  not  for  anything  in  the  world  would  he  have 
made  sure.  It  was  done.  He  was  safe.  He 
wanted  to  know  nothing,  nothing.  The  exigencies 
of  friendship  were  great  indeed. 

Later,  when  he  could  think  the  matter  over  calmly, 
he  was  amazed  at  the  impression  she  had  made  on 
him.  He  had  thought  her  inexpressive,  before,  and 
she  had  expressed  to  him  with  a  total  absence  of 
gesture,  innumerable  things.  He  had  been  very 
stupid.  He  had  wondered  whether  she  would  know 
how  to  behave.  The  result  had  been  that  he  him- 
self had  behaved  like  a  clown.  Weighing  the  pros 
and  cons  in  his  mind,  he  decided  against  giving 
Jocelyn  a  faithful  account  of  the  interview.  It 
would  be  better  for  the  latter  not  to  know  that  she 
had  detected  the  ruse. 


PART  THREE 


JIMMY  GOWER  had  no  great  opinion  of  him- 
self but  he  loved  his  friends  and  his  friends 
were  many,  too  many  some  people  thought. 
Women  were  constantly  saying  to  him:  "  Oh,  but 
you  like  everybody,  Jimmy,  and  everybody  likes 
you,"  and  he  had  come  to  feel  that  this  meant  that 
he  had  no  character.  He  admired  character.  He 
looked  at  stern  old  men  wistfully  and  sighed  at  the 
admirable  sight  of  young  men  fighting  to  get  on  in 
the  world  of  public  affaris. 

"  Men  of  character,"  he  would  ruminate  trying 
to  look  wise  as  he  lathered  his  face  of  a  morning, 
"  men  of  character  have  enemies.  I'm  afraid,  old 
chap,  that  you're  not  much  use."  He  would  heave  a 
sigh  and  run  to  answer  the  telephone  and  forget  to 
be  dismal  at  the  sound  of  a  sweet  voice  saying: 
"  Jimmy  dear,  you  must  come.  We  can't  get  on 
without  you." 

Jimmy  did  not  know  whether  he  had  more  men 
friends  than  women  friends  or  which  he  liked  best, 
though  of  course  they  were  vastly  different,  oh,  un- 
deniably different.  He  never  deceived  himself  into 
thinking  that  they  were  similar,  or  that  he  felt  the 
same  about  them.  Women  were  women,  the  dears, 
and  thank  God  they  were.  Women  liked  you  to 
make  love  to  them  and  thank  God  they  did.  Jimmy 

125 


i26  THE  TORTOISE 

was  never  tired  of  making  love.  He  was  always 
ready  to  begin  again.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was 
always  ready  to  retire  from  the  field  if  he  seemed  to 
be  spoiling  another  man's  game.  He  never  poached. 
He  never  disputed  a  prize.  After  all  it  didn't  much 
matter  to  him.  He  would  tell  himself  that  he 
wasn't  serious  and  other  people  were,  and  he  had  a 
profound  respect  for  those  others  so  different  who 
took  things  hard  and  grew  thin  nursing  a  hopeless 
passion.  When  he  saw  what  he  solemnly  termed  the 
real  thing,  he  would  withdraw  to  a  wistful  distance 
and  confide  mournfully  to  some  one  that  he  had  never 
been  in  love  in  his  life,  and  the  someone  would  say: 
"  Jimmy  you  are  an  incorrigible  liar." 

He  had  never  admitted  to  himself  that  this  was 
true  and  that  his  favorite  lament  was  a  lie.  It 
would  have  spoilt  his  disposition  to  have  stopped  to 
think  about  it,  and  so  he  kept  it,way  down,  some- 
where out  of  sight,  and  no  one  imagined  that  he,  dear 
old  Jimmy  of  the  ready  laugh  and  the  untiring  en- 
thusiasm, had  a  secret. 

Sometimes,  on  the  very  rare  occasions  when  he 
was  obliged  to  have  a  meal  alone  and  when,  conse- 
quently, he  was  gloomy,  his  secret  would  begin  to 
take  shape  and  threaten  his  peace  of  mind.  He 
would  reason  with  himself  and  say:  "  Look  here,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  can't  be  in  love.  If  you  were  you'd 
look  it.  You  wouldn't  sleep,  you  wouldn't  eat. 
And  as  for  eating,  you  know,  there  aren't  many 
people  who  think  as  much,  or  more  about  it  than  you 
do,  not  in  England  anyhow."  He  would  cock  an 


THE  TORTOISE  127 

eyebrow  and  send  his  fancy  across  the  channel  to 
seat  itself  at  a  small  table  before  a  savory  dish,  and 
if  this  flight  to  the  city  of  fine  cookery  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  laying  the  ghost,  he  would  resume,  in  a  more 
impatient  tone,  to  his  image: 

'  You  look  what  you  are,  and  you  are  what  you 
look,  a  good-natured  ass.  There's  no  heart  about 
you,  and  no  romance.  You've  no  damask  cheek  and 
no  concealment  like  a  worm  in  the  bud  ever  ate  into 
it,  and  besides,  good  God!  if  it  were  true  now,  then 
it  must  have  been  always  true,  oh  for  years  and  years, 
ever  since  you  were  a  kid,  and  you  needn't  suppose 
that  it's  possible  you've  loved  her  all  that  time.  It's 
impossible,  therefore  you  see,  it's  not  so." 

This  usually  finished  the  shaking  he  gave  himself 
and  he  would  come  out  of  it  brisk  and  merry  as  ever. 
Monologues  of  the  kind  occurred  three  or  four  times 
a  year,  not  more.  One  had  to  be  alone  for  a  longish 
time  to  begin  to  talk  to  oneself  and  he  was  never 
alone.  It  was  perhaps  for  this  reason  that  he  had 
never  found  out  that  the  truth  of  the  matter  lay  in 
the  fact  William  Chudd  was  his  best  friend  and  that 
his  enormous  enthusiasm  for  the  man  would  suffer 
no  breath  of  even  secret  disloyalty,  for  W.  B.  C.  was 
his  idol  and  the  rock  of  his  belief,  and  the  anchor 
that  kept  him  in  England.  "  If  it  were  not  for  W. 
B.,"  he  had  said,  "  I'd  give  up  all  this  funny  fagging 
I  do  for  the  Government  and  end  my  days  eating  in 
Paris."  His  fidelity  to  the  big  man  had  become  a 
legend.  He  had  told  so  many  people  for  so  many 
years  that  William  Chudd  was  the  greatest  man  in 


128  THE  TORTOISE 

England  that  when  W.  B.  really  did  loom  at  last, 
enormous  and  solid  behind  the  shifting  scene  of  poli- 
tics, the  world  of  politics  smiled  at  Jimmy  and  made 
use  of  him.  He  became  a  kind  of  intermediary  and 
was  to  be  seen  running  comically  between  the  staid 
portals  of  Whitehall  and  Chudd's  obscure  den  in  the 
city.  His  sporting  air,  his  somewhat  startling 
waistcoats,  his  noticeable  spats,  usually  white,  and 
his  refractory  eyeglass  came  to  stand  for  something 
unique.  "  An  uncommonly  useful  chap,"  he  was 
called.  "  Never  out  of  sorts,  and  he's  got  the  ear 
of  the  Mandarin."  Of  all  of  this,  Jimmy  was  un- 
aware. He  had  a  poor  opinion  of  himself,  as  has 
been  said,  but  he  loved  his  friends,  and  most  of  all 
he  loved  William  Chudd.  How  was  it  possible  for 
him  to  admit  that  he  was  in  love  with  Chudd's  wife? 
To  have  been  brought  to  admit  this  to  himself,  he 
would  have  had  to  be  alone  with  himself  for  a  long 
time  indeed,  or  to  have  been  tremendously  and  ter- 
ribly startled  into  sudden  self  knowledge. 

Poor  Jimmy  Gower,  he  expected  no  such  shock  as 
he  rushed  through  Paris  on  the  2nd  of  August  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Himself  was  the  last 
thing  he  dreamt  of  thinking  about.  William  Chudd 
had  been  at  the  bottom  of  his  being  sent  to  Rome  on 
a  piece  of  business  of  oppressive  importance,  and  he 
was  returning  with  a  precious  diplomacy  and  the  feel- 
ing of  having  muddled  things  down  there  as  a  worm 
like  himself  was  sure  to  do.  He  was  racing  along 
an  empty  boulevard  behind  a  grim  chauffeur  who 
was  driving  as  if  the  Germans  were  already  at  the 


THE  TORTOISE  129 

gates  of  Paris,  and  he  was  defying  all  the  powers 
of  Heaven  to  unravel  what  those  Italians  had  meant 
from  what  they  had  said,  when  he  saw  Helen  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Germain  on 
one  of  those  raised  rounds  of  pavement  where  one 
hails  tramcars.  That  she  was  the  last  person  in  the 
world  whom  he  expected  to  see  in  Paris,  on  that  day 
and  at  that  uncannily  early  hour,  explained  to  him 
very  inadequately  the  horrid  thumping  that  began 
under  his  ribs  at  the  sight  of  her.  Any  one  might 
have  been  anywhere  and  it  would  have  seemed  just 
mildly  curious  and  in  keeping  with  the  general  un- 
naturalness  of  things.  It  was  the  look  on  her  face  as 
he  dashed  past  that  arrested  him  and  made  him  pound 
on  the  glass  of  the  motor.  Europe  was  sending 
shudders  across  half  its  surface,  continents  were 
crouching  ready  to  leap  from  their  anchorage.  No- 
thing less  than  that  look  on  that  face  could  have 
stopped  him,  for  Jimmy  was  aware  of  the  horror  of 
events  and  overpowered  with  the  seriousness  of  his 
own  fragment  of  responsibility.  No  face  but  the  one 
face  in  the  world,  and  that  face  touched  with  mad- 
ness, could  have  stopped  him.  He  realized  this 
afterwards,  but  at  this  moment  of  the  swerving  round 
of  the  car  as  it  turned  and  swept  back  to  her,  where 
she  stood,  staring  up  at  the  sky,  so  strangely,  he  real- 
ized only  that  there  was  something  terribly  wrong 
with  Helen  and  that  the  ghastly  hue  of  her  face  had 
flashed  out  and  hurt  him  as  if  she  had  thrown  a  knife 
and  hit  him  as  he  passed. 

He  drew  alongside,  opening  the  door  of  the  lim- 


130  THE  TORTOISE 

ousine  and  was  abreast  of  her  before  she  could  move. 
Something  told  him  that  if  he  had  given  her  one 
instant's  time  she  would  have  fled,  but  he  was  there 
on  to  her  before  she  saw  him  and  as  she  started  back, 
glaring  at  him  in  a  way  that  he  would  have  termed 
"  dotty  "  had  he  named  it,  he  grabbed  her  arm, 

"Good  God,  Helen,  what's  the  matter?" 

She  struggled  to  free  her  arm,  gasping  as  if  for 
breath.  Her  face  was  damp  like  the  face  of  a  sick 
person  in  an  agony  of  pain.  Beads  of  perspiration 
glistened  on  her  forehead  and  round  her  mouth. 
Her  pallor  had  a  greenish  gleam. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  muttered;  "  what  do  you  stop 
for?  I  was  waiting" —  She  looked  at  him,  knit  her 
brows,  seemed  to  try  to  think  or  rather  seemed  as 
if  in  spite  of  herself  to  recognize  him:  "It's  you, 
Jimmy?  I  didn't  know  you  —  I  mean " 

"  Come,  get  in." 

"  Get  in  —  what  for?  Oh  no,  I  don't  want  to  get 
in." 

"  Come  quick,  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Why?  "  she  mumured  vaguely.  "  What  for? 
Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  the  Embassy.     I'll  give  you  a  lift." 

He  had  by  this  time  pulled  her  into  the  car  and 
she  had  let  herself  be  pulled  heavily,  in  a  dazed 
way  as  if  not  knowing  what  he  was  doing.  Once 
there  beside  him,  she  let  her  head  drop  forward;  it 
hung  loosely  downward.  Her  chin  almost  touched 
her  breast.  She  might  have  fallen  suddenly  into  a 
profound  sleep,  so  limp  had  she  become.  The  sight 


THE  TORTOISE  131 

of  her  made  him  feel  ill.  He  realized  that  he  was 
trembling.  He  was  afraid.  He  thought  to  him- 
self: "  She  has  gone  mad,  and  it's  true,  I  have  loved 
her  all  my  life." 

Was  she  mad,  or  ill  ?  —  What  could  he  do  ?  His 
brain  told  him  nothing.  His  instinct  said:  "  Rouse 
her." 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  Paris,  Helen?  "  he 
brought  out  in  a  loud  matter  of  fact  voice.  She 
looked  up  heavily. 

"  What  did  you  say?  " 

"  I  asked,  what  are  you  doing  in  Paris?  " 

She  stared  at  him:  "  I'm  waiting,"  she  announced. 

"To  get  back?" 

"  No,  oh  no." 

"What  for?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly  —  that  is  I'm  waiting  to 
find  out  what  I'm  waiting  for." 

His  heart  sank.  His  round  fresh  face  grew  red. 
His  eyes  began  to  smart,  to  fill;  he  had  a  gulping  sen- 
sation. 

"  My  poor  Helen  —  poor  dear!  "  He  took  her 
hand  and  stroked  it.  "  There,  don't  bother  to  talk. 
It's  all  right.  Don't  look  so  worried.  It's  all 
right;  you  poor  darling." 

She  stiffened  suddenly. 

"  Ah,  you  think  I'm  ill?" 

He  nodded. 

"You  think  I'm  mad?" 

He  shuddered. 

"Jimmy,  look  at  me,  look  into  my  eyes."     He  did 


132  THE  TORTOISE 

so  and  saw  with  immense  relief  that  although  blood 
shot  and  shrivelled  to  half  their  size  they  were  sane. 

"  I  am  not  mad,  nor  ill.  Jimmy,  do  you  hear? 
It's  not  that." 

He  stammered:  "  I  didn't  say  so." 

'  You  thought  so;  you're  not  sure  now.  You  be- 
lieve I'm  not  responsible  for  what  I'm  doing.  I 
won't  let  you  get  out  of  this  car  unless  you  swear  to 
me  that  you'll  not  mention  at  the  Embassy  that 
you've  seen  me." 

"  But,  Helen  — " 

"Swear  it!" 

"  I  can't  leave  you  like  this." 

"  Swear  it." 

'  Will  you  wait  then  outside  if  I  promise?  " 

She  hesitated.     At  last  she  said:  "  Yes,  I'll  wait." 

He  was  told  in  the  Embassy  that  he  could  share  a 
car  to  Bologne,  but  that  the  man  who  was  going 
would  not  be  ready  for  two  hours.  Would  he  come 
back  at  that  time?  No,  the  passenger  trains  were 
not  running,  or  at  least  if  they  were,  they  were  go- 
ing backward. 

Helen  was  waiting.  She  lay  back  in  the  corner 
of  the  motor,  her  eyes  closed.  He  was  grateful  at 
finding  her  like  that:  anything  was  better  than  that 
terrible  posture  when  her  head  had  hung  loose, 
drooping  forward  and  down  like  a  drunken  woman. 
She  opened  her  eyes  as  he  joined  her  but  did  not 
move.  It  seemed  to  him  now  that  she  was  merely 
exhausted.  Her  eyes  were  sunken.  The  corners  of 
her  mouth  were  drawn.  Her  nose  seemed  pinched. 


THE  TORTOISE 

She  had  the  look  of  some  one  who  is  suffering  from 
deadly  cold. 

"  I  have  more  than  an  hour  to  wait.  Will  you 
give  me  some  breakfast?" 

She  signified  her  assent,  scarcely  audibly. 

Watching  her  in  silence,  he  wondered  what  she 
would  do  when  they  reached  the  hotel,  but  his  fears 
on  that  point  were  groundless.  She  walked  natur- 
ally enough,  though  slowly,  dragging  her  feet  one 
after  the  other  through  the  hall  to  the  lift,  and  he 
realized,  as  they  passed  worried  women  and  hag- 
gard women  in  veils,  that  no  tragedy  or  horror 
would  seem  strange  to  any  one  now  and  that  the 
look  on  her  face  would  pass  unnoticed  anywhere. 

In  her  sitting-room  he  made  a  great  to  do  about 
his  breakfast.  He  would  like  coffee  and  two  soft 
boiled  eggs  and  some  jam,  if  it  wasn't  too  much 
trouble,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  grew  more 
natural  and  less  afraid  of  him  for  his  fussing.  If 
that  was  what  she  needed  he  could  do  any  amount  of 
that.  He  began  to  chatter.  He  said  that  Italy 
was  a  long  way  off  and  that  they  had  been  held  up  in- 
terminably at  the  frontier.  He  said  that  it  was  hot 
in  Rome  and  that  the  hotter  it  was  the  more  people 
talked.  He  described  a  baby  in  the  train  who  ate 
bananas,  one  after  another,  countless  bananas.  The 
recollection  of  those  bananas  disappearing  into  that 
baby  was,  he  insisted,  most  awfully  funny.  It  made 
him  laugh  to  think  of  it.  And  he  actually  achieved 
the  laugh.  He  knew  then  why  he  had  been  born  in 
the  guise  of  a  court  fool,  it  was  so  that  now  at  this 


134  THE  TORTOISE 

moment,  he  would  not  frighten  Helen.  She  would 
think  him  a  harmless  idiot  and  the  presence  of  a 
harmless  idiot  was  evidently  what  she  needed. 

The  waiter  brought  in  the  breakfast  tray  and  he 
pounced  upon  it  with  a  roar  of  hunger,  wondering 
how  under  Heaven  he  would  choke  any  of  it  down. 
He  flourished  his  napkin  and  poured  out  coffee  with 
gurgles  of  delight.  "  Ass,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  go 
ahead.  Be  it.  It's  your  one  chance." 

He  felt  her  behind  him,  hanging  away,  distractedly 
moving  this  way  and  that.  He  heard  the  swish  of 
her  skirts,  and  a  little  sound  like  a  groan.  It  was 
as  if  some  poor  little  wild  animal  were  suffering 
there  behind  him.  Looking  into  the  mirror,  he  saw 
her  staring  at  him,  her  eyes  fixed,  while  her  hands 
twisted  together. 

He  took  a  gulp,  wiped  his  moustache  and  burst 
out:  "Jove,  that's  good!"  He  felt  her  come 
nearer  shyly.  He  held  his  breath.  She  took  off  her 
hat  and  laid  it  on  the  chimney  piece.  He  dared  not 
look  up.  Then  she  said,  standing  before  him,  and 
her  voice  had  a  quivering  sweetness: 

"  You're  a  dear  soul,  Jimmy." 

Like  a  starving  man,  he  attacked  an  egg,  broke 
open  a  roll  and  applied  to  it  a  wealth  of  butter.  He 
gave  no  sign  of  his  immense  joy  at  her  tone.  He 
was  enormously  and  busily  hungry. 

"  It's  lucky  you  met  me,"  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,  wasn't  it?  "  he  said  brightly,  fatuously  grin- 
ning up  at  her.  Her  face  had  relaxed.  She 
drooped  wearily  before  him.  He  noticed  that  her 


THE  TORTOISE  135 

hair  was  matted  and  damp.  It  clung  in  wet  tendrils 
to  her  temples.  How  glad  he  was  now  of  his  comic 
appearance,  and  what  people  termed  his  frolicking- 
puppy-features.  Trusting  to  these  and  eyeing  her 
closely  he  added  mildly:  "  W.B.  will  worry;  I  can 
reassure  him." 

She  started.     He  groaned  inwardly. 

"Reassure  him?"  she  breathed  with  a  strange 
tremor.  Her  eyes  widened  and  fixed  on  something 
beyond  him. 

"  Tell  him  I  saw  you  and  say  you're  alright." 

"  Oh  God,  now  I've  messed  it,"  he  wailed  to  him- 
self, for  he  saw  that  once  again  she  was  quivering. 
A  shudder,  plainly  visible  to  him,  travelled  down  her 
as  if  some  invisible  power  had  seized  her  and  were 
exerting  a  horrid  vibrating  pressure.  He  saw  her 
try  to  master  that  shaking.  He  saw  that  she 
couldn't  and  then  he  saw  in  her  eyes  that  she  saw 
that  he  saw.  He  thought  in  one  second  more  her 
teeth  will  begin  to  chatter,  but  with  an  effort  that 
made  her  grimace  strangely,  twisting  her  mouth 
awry,  she  was  still,  then  she  took  a  step  away  and 
turned  her  back  on  him. 

Miserably  bound  to  his  chair,  he  watched  her  lift 
her  hands  to  her  face,  drop  them  again,  and  then 
she  said  coldly  as  if  from  a  great  distance : 

"  Yes,  of  course,  certainly;  you  have  seen  me,  and 
I'm  alright." 

"  I'll  tell  him  too,  that  you'll  be  home  as  soon  as 
you  can  get  across." 

She  whirled,  facing  him  again. 


136  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Coming  home?  No!  "  she  cried  out  as  if  he 
had  struck  her,  and  then  at  the  sight  of  his  round 
flushed  troubled  face :  "  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter  what 
you  say;  say  whatever  you  like.  Only  don't  ever  as 
long  as  you  live  tell  any  one  how  you  found  me,  or 
what  I  was  like.  You  wouldn't,  you  couldn't — " 
She  was  imploring  him  now  — "You  won't  tell,  will 
you,  Jimmy;  you'll  say  I  looked  well  and  happy.  — 
No,  you  needn't  say  that.  —  I  forgot  —  War  is  de- 
clared. No  one  need  be  happy  now.  Isn't  it 
strange  ?  It's  so  hard  for  me  to  think,  I  can't  think 
clearly." 

"  You  look  most  awfully  fagged." 

"  Yes,  that's  it,  I'm  worn  out.  I've  not  slept  for 
three  nights.  When  you've  not  slept  at  all  for  three 
nights,  you're  bound  to  be  tired,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Of  course.     There's  nothing  so  bad  for  one." 

"  Dear  Jimmy,  you  see,  I'm  alright.  I  only  want 
a  little  sleep." 

"  That's  why  you  went  out  so  early  this  morning 
I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  I  couldn't  sleep,  so  I  got  up  at  five.  I'd 
been  walking  since  then.  I  went  to  the  Luxembourg 
gardens.  They  were  locked,  so  I  walked  through 
the  Latin  quarter,  and  then  I  found  myself  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain.  All  the  houses  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  were  closed.  Every  one  is  away. 
Or  so  they  say  —  so  it  seemed.  Perhaps  they  were 
there,  who  knows?  The  shutters  were  closed. 
How  could  one  tell?  It  was  so  early.  I  had  no 
one  there,  no  one  I  wanted  to  see.  I  did  not  mean 


THE  TORTOISE  137 

to  go.  My  feet  took  me.  I  hate  the  Faubourg, 
all  those  proud,  old  deceitful  houses."  Her  voice 
quivered,  trailed  away.  "  I  am  so  tired,"  she  added 
in  the  tone  of  a  child.  "  I  believe  I  could  sleep 
now."  She  smiled.  "  Seeing  you  eating  your  eggs 
has  made  me  sleepy." 

He  suggested  casually:  "  stretch  out  on  the 
couch." 

"  I  believe  I  will;  do  you  mind?  " 

She  dragged  her  feet  across  the  floor,  swaying, 
uncertainly,  then  dropped,  crumpled  up,  clung  to  the 
couch,  pulled  herself  further  on  to  it  and  sank  down 
with  a  long  sigh,  her  eyes  closed.  When  he  rose 
a  moment  or  two  later  and  crossed  to  look  at  her,  she 
was  sound  asleep. 

And  then  Jimmy  fell  on  his  knees.  He  wasn't 
praying,  or  if  he  was,  did  not  know  it.  He  was  just 
wishing,  willing,  trying,  trying  to  help,  trying  to  un- 
derstand, trying  to  know  what  to  do,  feeling  him- 
self a  worm,  wondering  what  W.  B.  C.  would  have 
him  to  do.  "  If  you  were  Bill  Chudd,  what  would 
you  have  a  man  do  for  your  wife,  now  here,  like 
this?"  he  asked  himself.  Poor  Jimmy,  he  didn't 
know;  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  do.  He  had  to 
take  a  bag  to  London.  England  would  be  at  war 
in  another  twenty-four  hours.  The  Italians  had 
given  him  messages,  which  might  or  might  not  be 
sincere.  He  was  bound  to  go.  He  was  bound  to 
leave  her.  He  had  promised  her  not  to  tell  them 
at  the  Embassy  of  her  presence.  All  he  could  do 
was  to  tell  W.  B.  to  send  for  her  to  come  back.  He 


138  THE  TORTOISE 

was  of  no  use  to  any  one.  He  was  unable  to  help 
her.  He  could  do  nothing  for  her.  He  could  only 
go  away  on  tiptoe,  leaving  her  asleep  and  remem- 
bering her  smile,  the  most  pitiful  thing  he  had  ever 
seen  in  all  his  life. 

And  he  knew  now  that  he  couldn't  any  more  get 
the  best  of  his  secret  with  monologues  about  food 
or  anything  else.  There  it  was,  staring  at  him,  and 
William  Chudd  was  his  best  friend. 


II 


PARIS  on  the  third  of  August  had  seemed  to 
Gower  supernaturally  calm.    Its  intense  pre- 
occupied quiet  showed  him  a  light-hearted 
nation,  transformed  by  terrible  knowledge.     Alive 
grimly  to  its  history,  remembering  with  awful  clarity 
the  tragedy  of  other  wars,  Paris  was  terribly  wise. 
He  found  London  in  the  throes  of  a  savage  and 
ignorant  excitement.     The  placards  of  the  afternoon 
papers  were  having  it  all  their  own  way;  Piccadilly 
was  a  chattering  flood  of  fantastic  conjecture;  the 
crowd    was     aggressive     and     noisy.     Under     the 
stimulus  of   a   tremendous  and   unreal   danger   the 
Anglo-Saxon  felt  himself  a  giant;  Europe,  he  knew, 
was  in  upheaval,  but  his  British  Islands  were  solid, 
anchored  firmly  forever  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
and  the  sea  belonged  to  him.     He  saw  it  dotted  over 
with  the  hulls  of  his  warships.     He  swelled  out  his 
chest,  squared  his  shoulders  and  strode  abroad,  his 
fighting  instinct  exalted;  his  fingers  itched  for  a  gun; 
he  demanded  a  part  in  the  business.     If  his  Govern- 
ment kept  him  out  of  it,  he  would  consider  himself 
cheated  and  disgraced.     He  thought  of  Belgium  as 
a  very  plucky  little  country  and  France  as  a  vague 
continent  full  of  weaklings  who  would  be  no  match 
for  the  Germans  whom  he  hated.     He  was  bound  in 
honour  to  go  over  there  and  lend  them  a  hand. 

139 


140  THE  TORTOISE 

Gower  delivered  his  precious  bag  to  a  haggard 
friend  at  the  foreign  Office  and  was  told  that  the 
Chief  Secretary  would  like  to  see  him  if  he  had 
anything  very  particular  to  say  about  the  situation 
in  Rome,  but  that  if  he  had  not,  he  the  haggard 
friend  who  had  not  slept  for  five  periods  of  twenty- 
four  hours,  advised  him  to  go  home  and  leave  the 
minister  alone.  Gower  was  certain  that  nothing  he 
could  have  to  say  was  worth  five  minutes  of  the  great 
man's  time.  His  friend  agreed  with  him  and  follow- 
ing him  stiffly  to  the  door,  breathed  in  a  languid  tone 
that  it  was  too  late  for  any  power  on  earth  to  do 
anything  now.  The  Prime  Minister  had  returned 
from  Buckingham  Palace  half  an  hour  ago.  The 
thing  was  done.  The  sepulchral  undertone  had  the 
sound  of  the  still  voice  of  Heaven. 

Jimmy  took  himself  out  into  the  sunshine  feeling 
a  little  as  if  he  had  had  a  blow  in  the  stomach.  He 
believed  as  much  as  any  man  in  the  street  in  those 
warships  with  their  guns  pointing  across  the  seas; 
it  did  not  for  an  instant  occur  to  him  that  England, 
and  his  home  and  his  mother  and  sisters  and  cousins 
and  friends  were  in  danger,  but  he  knew  Germany 
and  he  hated  the  Germans  positively  and  personally, 
and  he  realized  that  not  later  than  tomorrow  morn- 
ing he  must  join  the  army  that  would  go  out  to  kill 
them,  and  he  felt  himself  very  unfit  to  kill  Germans. 
He  was  convinced  that  he  wouldn't  be  any  good  as  a 
soldier.  His  regiment  had  let  him  go  five  years  be- 
fore, because  of  a  blow  on  the  head  at  polo.  His 
eye  sight  was  bad,  and  he  had  a  feeling  that  this  was 


THE  TORTOISE  141 

particularly  unfortunate,  for  surely  one  needed  a 
good  pair  of  eyes  to  shoot  Germans.  On  the  other 
hand  no  one  would  miss  him  at  home.  He  was  not 
a  useful  member  of  the  community.  His  mother, 
when  he  said  good-bye,  would  give  him  her  weather- 
beaten  cheek  to  kiss  and  go  on  with  her  game  of 
bridge.  His  father  would  perhaps  go  so  far  as  to 
settle  his  bills  for  him.  Mentally  calculating  the 
sum  of  his  debts  he  found  that  they  made  a  con- 
siderable total  but  he  felt  fairly  certain  that  under 
the  circumstances  his  father  would  pay  them,  being 
convinced  that  this  time  was  positively  the  last. 

The  phrase,  "  for  the  last  time,"  seemed  to  him 
the  refrain  of  his  walk  up  Whitehall.  He  felt  in  a 
great  hurry  but  did  not  take  a  taxi.  The  still  small 
voice  in  the  Foreign  Office  had  paralyzed  his  power 
of  decision. —  There  were  a  lot  of  things  he  would 
like  to  do  for  the  last  time,  but  the  day  was  too  short 
to  hold  them.  He  would  leave  them  undone.  He 
must  find  Chudd  and  then  take  the  five  o'clock  train 
to  the  country.  The  Government  had  determined 
on  war  and  W.  B.  had  had  something  to  do  with  that 
determination.  He  must  find  him  and  tell  him  that 
Helen  was  all  right. 

He  would  go  to  the  club  and  telephone  to  W.  B.'s 
office  and  have  a  drink.  Some  one  there  would  tell 
him  what  to  do  to  join  up  in  a  hurry. 

He  felt  very  tired.  It  was  hot.  The  streets 
stewed  and  sent  up  strong  odours.  The  crowds 
were  as  violent  as  ever.  He  moved  through  them 
wearily.  "  God  help  'em,"  he  muttered.  Human- 


142  THE  TORTOISE 

ity  swirled  at  street  corners.  Piccadilly  Circus  was 
a  whirlpool  where  motor  buses  navigated  like  en- 
raged walruses.  An  old  woman  in  a  shawl  was  sell- 
ing flowers,  just  as  she  had  always  sold  flowers  in 
Piccadilly  Circus.  She  knew  nothing,  observed  noth- 
ing, feared  nothing.  He  bought  a  red  carnation 
for  his  buttonhole,  for  the  last  time  I 

Helen  was  anything  but  all  right.  Something 
dreadful  had  happened  to  her.  It  was  none  of  his 
business  to  wonder  what  it  was.  She  was  alone  in 
Paris,  and  war  had  cut  off  France  from  England  as 
if  the  Channel  had  become  an  impassable  torrent. 
He  wondered  if  he  had  seen  Helen  for  the  last  time. 
"  We'll  all  lose  each  other  in  the  beastly  confusion," 
he  said  to  himself.  It  seemed  only  too  immediately 
true,  for  he  could  not  find  W.  B.  Half  an  hour 
in  the  suffocating  enclosure  of  a  telephone  booth 
produced  no  result.  There  was  no  trace  of  Chudd 
anywhere.  The  only  information  he  obtained  was 
negative.  No,  he  was  not  in  his  office;  no,  his  secre- 
tary did  not  believe  he  was  in  Downing  Street;  no, 
the  caretaker  of  the  house  in  Mayfair  had  not  seen 
him  since  eight  o'clock  the  morning  before,  and  did 
not  know  whether  to  expect  him  or  not  that  night. 
He  had  disappeared  like  a  wraith,  a  man  of  no  sub- 
stance who  leaves  no  track  behind  him.  The  fact 
was  disturbing.  If  a  person  of  such  height  and  such 
social  bulk  could  be  lost  so  completely,  then  the 
world  had  indeed  become  a  horrid  mystery. 

Gower  had  no  desire  to  join  the  groups  of  worried 
men  in  the  bar  or  the  smoking  room.  They  were 


THE  TORTOISE  H3 

talking  with  the  animation  of  women  at  a  tea  party. 
It  was  extraordinary  how  many  ideas  they  had. 
They  were  talking  of  Belgium  and  its  invasion  and 
the  indomitable  little  Belgian  army;  they  said  that 
the  war  couldn't  last  more  than  three  months  because 
Germany  would  be  ruined  financially  in  that  time; 
they  believed  that  Russia  would  march  straight  to 
Berlin;  they  agreed  solemnly  that  for  the  sake  of 
Belgium  they  themselves  must  enter  the  war.  They 
talked  of  "  scraps  of  paper  "  and  violated  neutrality 
and  the  probable  movement  of  the  stock  markets; 
they  prophesied,  they  laid  wagers,  they  blustered  one 
to  another.  Jimmy  had  no  ears  for  their  words. 
He  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  being  who  exists  above 
all  Gods  and  all  worlds.  Through  the  thin  lips  of 
a  tired  man  at  a  desk  it  had  spoken  to  him  and  had 
said:  "Let  there  be  death,  let  darkness  swallow 
the  earth."  It  sounded  now  in  his  head.  He  could 
not  hear  what  the  excited  men  in  the  bar  were  say- 
ing. They  were  like  men  gesticulating  behind  a 
thick  pane  of  glass  that  shut  in  the  sound  of  their 
voices.  He  left  his  drink  undrunk,  and  started  to 
go,  but  he  did  not  know  where  to  go  to  find  Chudd. 

He  hesitated  miserably  in  the  doorway  at  the 
top  of  the  front  steps  of  the  club,  mopping  his  head 
and  screwing  up  his  eyes  at  the  sunlight  outside. 

"  Hello  Jimmy,  what's  the  matter?  You  look  as 
if  you  were  going  to  cry." 

"  Well,  you  don't."  It  was  Stump  Arkwright, 
recently  become  private  secretary  to  the  Prime  Min- 
ister, cool,  immaculate,  imperturbable,  in  a  silk  hat 


144  THE  TORTOISE 

and  grey  gloves.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  flicking  an 
imaginary  speck  off  his  perfect  coat,  and  turned  a 
handsome  blue  eye  on  Jimmy. 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  said  blandly. 

"Where?" 

"  To  Downing  street.  The  P.  M.  wants  to  see 
you." 

"  Don't  be  funny,  little  darling;  I'm  busy." 

"  Ass,  I'm  not  funny,  neither  are  you.  He  asked 
me  to  send  or  bring  you." 

"  Why?  " —  Jimmy  was  being  propelled  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  waiting  car. 

"  It's  about  W.  B.  C,"  said  Arkwright  once  they 
were  inside  the  car. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  It  appears  that  he  has  refused  his  support." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  The  P.  M.  wants  him  in  the  Government.  At 
a  moment  like  this,  you  understand — " 

"  Of  course,  of  course." 

"  Well,  W.  B.  won't  hear  of  it.  We've  all  been 
after  him.  He  just  blinks  at  us  and  says  nothing. 
Won't  give  his  reasons." 

"  What's  the  matter?  " 

"  That's  what  we  want  you  to  find  out.  The  P. 
M.  is  willing  to  make  concessions.  If  there's  any- 
thing that  Chudd  doesn't  like  —  it  may  be  possible 
to  —  to  arrange  things." 

"  It  can't  be  that,  he  wouldn't  quibble." 

"  Ah,  you  imagine  a  different  sort  of  thing?  A 
private  reason?  " 


THE  TORTOISE  14$ 

Jimmy  jumped.  "Why  do  you  say  that?"  he 
blurted  out. 

Arkwright  smiled:  "Why?  Oh,  for  no  reason 
at  all  I  assure  you.  I  was  merely  wondering;  one 
hears  things." 

"  Peggy's  been  giving  lots  of  people  tea  lately," 
murmured  Arkwright. 

"  Peggy  isn't  nasty,  she  couldn't  be." 

"  No  one  suggests  it  of  the  dear  child,  but  she  has 
a  flaire,  she  says  his  brain  is  ill." 

"  Humph." 

"  And  —  well  you  know  it  is  singular,  it  is  re- 
markable — " 

"What  the  devil  are  you  driving  at?  Singu- 
lar? What's  singular?  " 

"  Helen's  absence  is  singular,  if  you  will  be  so  ill 
tempered." 

"Well,  that's  all  rot;  she's  held  up  in  Paris;  I 
saw  her;  she's  crossing  as  soon  as  she  can  get  on  a 
train." 

"  I  see." 

Jimmy  grunted:  "You're  just  like  an  old 
woman,"  he  said  peevishly.  "  Why  don't  you  take 
care  of  the  country  and  leave  people's  private  affairs 
alone?" 

"  W.  B.  hasn't  any  private  affairs  now.  We're 
going  to  war  with  Germany.  He  knows  as  well  as 
any  one  that  his  support  is  invaluable.  I  confess 
I  don't  understand  him  and  never  did.  What's  he 
been  working  for  all  these  years,  if  he  throws  over 
the  whole  thing  now?  Putting  aside  the  question 


146  THE  TORTOISE 

of  his  obligation,  it's  at  the  same  time  his  chance  — • 
his  great  opportunity.  He  could  and  would  soon  be 
running  the  country.  No  one  else  has  such  weight 
with  Labour.  He  could  bring  them  all  in.  He  re- 
fuses. Naturally  his  refusal  arouses  suspicions. 
What's  his  game?  He's  a  mine  of  information; 
what's  he  going  to  do  with  it,  use  it  against  us? 
Here  we  are.  Come  along  in,  the  P.  M.  will  give 
you  his  ideas." 

"  Oh,  God!  "  groaned  Jimmy. 

He  didn't  want  to  go  in  at  that  door.  The  house 
that  he  knew  so  well,  and  where  he  lunched  three 
days  in  the  week,  seemed  to  him  a  strange  and  for- 
bidding house,  and  the  man  who  was  the  father  of 
one  of  his  friends  and  the  host  of  a  hundred  others 
and  who  had  now  sent  for  him  on  business  of  impor- 
tance seemed  to  him  a  strange  and  sinister  man. 
Nevertheless  he  went  in,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later  he  came  out.  He  did  not  look  very  different; 
often  and  often  he  had  come  out  of  that  house,  a 
round  little  figure  with  a  rosy  face  and  a  carnation 
in  his  button  hole  and  white  spats  on  his  shiny  boots 
and  with  laughter  bubbling  out  of  him.  The  carna- 
tion and  the  white  spats  were  still  there,  the  face 
was  still  rosy  and  comically  sweet,  for  no  amount  of 
worry  could  make  it  look  anything  else,  but  the 
laughter  was  gone,  forever  he  would  have  told  you. 
He  was  a  forlorn  little  jester  shorn  of  his  jester's 
cap  and  his  reason  for  being.  Things  were  beyond 
him,  things  great  and  important  and  depressing  had 
been  told  him,  and  they  were  beyond  him. 


THE  TORTOISE  147 

He  ordered  Arkwright's  car  to  take  him  to  Lady 
Sidlington.  If  any  one  could  help  him  to  find  W.  B. 
she  could.  And  he  sat  very  still  and  plump  and 
solemn  against  its  cushions  and  he  felt  that  he  was 
crushed,  but  inside  his  crushed  bruised  person  he 
held  to  his  idea ;  he  still  believed  in  William  Chudd. 

Three  solemn  members  of  the  Government  had 
combined  to  crush  him  with  the  evidence  of  his 
friend's  faithlessness  to  his  country.  The  word 
treachery  had  not  sounded  in  the  stiff  atmosphere, 
but  its  place  had  marked  a  definite  hiatus  in  the 
smooth  damning  sentences. —  Had  W.  B.  absconded 
with  the  funds  of  the  Bank  of  England  the  reproach 
cast  upon  him  could  not  have  been  much  greater. 

"  They  take  themselves  too  damn  seriously,"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "  God,  a  man's  soul  is  his 
own  I  s'pose;  "  but  his  anger  with  those  cold  masters 
of  diction  who  held  the  reins  of  the  country  in  their 
accomplished  fingers,  was  feeble.  The  pressure  and 
weight  of  authority  directed  upon  him  at  such  close 
quarters  had  impressed  him;  and  the  great  need  of 
his  country  was  heavy  on  his  heart.  He  remembered 
the  silent  white  roads  of  France  with  the  dusty  troops 
plodding  along  them  in  the  sun.  He  saw  those  col- 
umns of  men,  coming  up  from  every  village  and  ham- 
let and  city,  to  the  frontier  where  the  Germans  were 
massing.  Already  perhaps  the  enemy  had  poured 
over.  Already,  France  was  invaded. 

"  We'll  be  too  late,"  he  groaned  inwardly. 

There  was  no  time.  Did  no  one  realize  how  little 
time  there  was?  Those  three  men,  sitting  still  in 


148  THE  TORTOISE 

a    room,    weren't    they    going    to    do    something? 

He  would  miss  his  train  to  the  country.  Well 
then,  he'd  join  up  in  the  morning  and  go  down  after- 
wards. Impossible  to  put  off  joining  another 
twenty-four  hours.  Suppose  the  Germans  beat  the 
French  before  he  could  get  there. 

The  Prime  Minister's  wife  had  come  out  into  the 
hall  and  had  asked  him  about  Helen. 

"Why  doesn't  the  wretched  girl  come  home?" 
she  had  said. 

He  felt  sure  now  that  Helen  would  never  come 
home,  she  wouldn't  be  able  to.  He  believed  defi- 
nitely that  he  had  seen  her  for  the  last  time. 

The  world  was  black,  black,  black. 

He  loved  Helen  and  W.  B.  and  they  had  both 
abandoned  him.  Some  tragic  circumstance  that  was 
none  of  his  business  had  cut  him  off  from  them  for- 
ever. He  had  been  told  by  the  P.  M.  to  go  and 
bring  W.  B.  to  his  senses.  The  idea  was  grotesque. 
If  W.  B.  had  gone  mad,  his  madness  would  be 
colossal.  He  saw  him  in  his  mind's  eye,  pulling 
down  his  house  with  his  hands  and  strewing  the 
bricks  over  the  green  grass,  and  he  heard  him  say- 
ing: "  Helen  has  gone,  so  I'm  pulling  it  down." 

He  started  guiltily.  The  door  of  Peggy's  house 
was  open  before  him  and  she  was  in  it,  hatted  and 
gloved. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it's  you?  Come  in."  And  she 
turned  back  beckoning  him  to  follow. 


Ill 


SHE  took  him  through  the  hall  that  was  full 
of  packing  cases  and  parcels  into  the  dining 
room.     From  behind  the  double  doors  of  the 
library  came  the  sound  of  voices  and  the  clicking  of 
typewriters. 

"  For  the  French  Red  Cross,"  she  explained 
briefly.  Her  face  was  serious.  She  had  on  a  limp 
linen  dress  and  a  small  straw  hat  that  came  down 
over  her  head  like  a  bowl.  He  noticed  vaguely  a 
difference  in  her.  She  was  business-like  and  tired 
and  strong.  Closing  the  door  after  them  she  laid 
a  bulging  leather  hand-bag  with  her  gloves  and 
parasol  on  the  bare  table  and  faced  him. 

They  spoke  then  simultaneously: 

"  Have  you  seen,  Helen?  " 

"  Have  you  seen  W.  B.?" 

And  they  both  nodded  assent,  keeping  still  for  a 
moment  after,  because  neither  wanted  to  begin  a 
revelation  that  perhaps  did  not  sufficiently  concern 
the  other  to  justify  its  telling.  They  weren't  there 
to  discuss  the  affairs  of  their  friends  for  their  own 
amusement.  Their  exchanged  look  conveyed  each 
to  the  other  an  admonition:  "  Don't  think  that 
I'm  going  to  talk  to  you  unless  it's  really  worth 
while." 

"  Have  a  cigarette,"  said  Peggy,  offering  her  case. 
149 


150  THE  TORTOISE 

"  I  haven't  much  time." 

11  Neither  have  I." 

"  It's  just  this,  then.  I  can't  find  W.  B.  Do 
you  know  where  he  is?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  him  for?  " 

"  The  P.  M.  has  given  me  a  message  for  him." 

"  I  see.  "  She  leaned  against  the  dining-room 
table,  her  hands  on  it  behind  her,  her  eyes  in  a  level 
concentrated  gaze  turned  to  the  window.  Her  at- 
tractive appearance  seemed  a  mistake.  She  had  the 
manner  of  a  severe  school-mistress. 

"  Well,"  she  said  deliberately  after  thinking  a  mo- 
ment, "  I  can  tell  you  where  to  find  him,  but,"  and 
she  nipped  off  his  sigh  of  relief  with  a  frown,  "  I 
don't  know  whether  I  will  or  not." 

"And  why  on  earth  not?  Isn't  he?  —  Ain't  I? 
Aren't  we  friends  for  Heaven's  sake?  " 

"  Don't  get  fussed,  Jimmy.  Of  course  you  are  his 
friend,  but  perhaps  that's  just  the  reason  —  I  mean 
if  he  wanted  to  see  you,  he  would  have  left  word, 
wouldn't  he?" 

'  You  mean  he  is  deliberately  avoiding  me?" 

"  I  don't  know;  it  is  possible,  he  didn't  say  so;  he 
didn't  say  anything  about  you." 

She  gave  it  to  him  straight  like  a  challenge. 

He  flushed.  She  seemed  to  him  antagonistic  and 
somehow  disagreeable. 

"  Well,  why  should  he?  "  To  this  she  answered 
nothing,  so  he  added  irritably:  "What  the  devil 
did  he  say?  " 

"  Ah,  that  I  can't  tell  you." 


THE  TORTOISE  151 

He  turned  away  then  to  hide  his  annoyance.  He 
was  jealous:  why  should  W.  B.  have  confided  in  her? 
He  kept  his  back  to  her  and  lowered  his  head  be- 
tween his  shoulders.  The  idea  that  perhaps  he 
would  be  forced  to  go  off  to  the  war  without  seeing 
W.  B.,  and  never  perhaps  see  him  again,  and  never 
perhaps  come  back,  filled  him  with  a  great  envelop- 
ing hurting  fear.  He  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
enormous  loss,  as  if  a  huge  and  fatal  theft  had  been 
perpetrated  upon  him.  He  had  known  for  some 
time,  all  that  day  anyhow,  that  he  would  go  out  and 
get  killed,  but  he  had  not  known  what  it  meant. 
Now  he  knew.  This  was  one  of  the  things  it  meant. 
He  was  aware  now  that  he  would  leave  them  forever, 
W.  B.  and  Helen.  Never  again  would  he  look  at 
their  faces,  or  feel  the  warm  good  comfort  of  their 
companionship.  He  would  be  alone;  he  would  be 
done  in.  He  would  cease  to  be.  He  would  not 
even  remember.  If  only  he  could  see  W.  B.  just 
once  more,  he  felt  that  it  would  all  be  bearable. 
This  was  childlike,  he  knew,  but  he  felt  like  a  child, 
and  a  wronged  child  who  had  been  cheated,  betrayed, 
and  who  had  been  left  alone  in  the  dark.  He  was 
afraid.  Ah,  how  dark  it  was,  the  sunny  dreary 
square  beyond  the  window,  with  the  green  trees  be- 
hind the  black  iron  railing.  How  many  times  he  had 
driven  into  that  square  with  W.  B.  to  pick  up  Helen, 
and  take  her  down  to  the  country.  She  used  to  wave 
from  the  window  and  W.  B.  would  look  up  and  smile 
and  stand  waiting  to  hand  her  into  the  car,  and  then 
they  would  carry  her  off  the  two  of  them.  W.  B. 


152  THE  TORTOISE 

would  drive  with  Helen  beside  him  and  he,  Jimmy, 
behind.  They  had  tolerated  him  always.  Always 
they  had  been  kind  to  him  and  he  had  been  happy, 
because  they  were  happy.  Now  they  were  unhappy 
and  they  had  no  use  for  him;  he  had  lost  them,  W. 
B.  had  thrown  him  over. 

He  was  too  disturbed  to  hide  his  feelings. 

"  But  I  want  to  see  him,"  he  blurted  out.  I'm 
joining  up  tomorrow;  I  can't  go  without  seeing  W.  B. 

He  felt  Peggy's  arm  slip  through  his  own. 

"  Dear  Jimmy,  I'm  so  glad,  and  I'm  so  sorry." 
Her  voice  was  sweet  now  and  kind.  "  Come,  sit 
down.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  can,  and  you  tell  me;  I 
swore  to  W.  B.  that  I  would  put  no  one  on  his  track. 
It's  no  use  going  to  him  with  a  message  from  the 
P.  M.  He  knows  all  that;  it's  no  good  interfering 
with  him  now;  we  can't  do  anything  any  of  us,  he  is 
determined. 

"  Determined  to  do  what?  " 

"  Determined  to  give  it  all  up." 

"  But  he  can't,  not  now.  He  can't  just  chuck 
everything  and  he  won't,  I  don't  believe  it,  he's  not 
a  coward." 

"  No."  Peggy  took  off  her  hat  and  leaned  her 
head  in  her  hands.  She  had  drawn  up  a  chair  to 
the  table  and  faced  Jimmy  across  a  corner  of  it. 
"  No,"  she  repeated,  "  he'll  go  out  to  France  and 
get  killed." 

"  But  he's  not  a  soldier." 

"  He'll  become  one." 

"Good    God!     I    don't    understand.     He's    no 


THE  TORTOISE  153 

right    to    do    it.     The    Government    needs    him." 

Peggy  sniffed:  "  Government!  "  and  twirled  her 
fingers,  but  her  face  was  serious. 

"  Well,  that's  all  very  well,  but  if  no  one  stays 
by  the  Government — " 

She  eyed  him  wisely :  "  They've  been  getting  at 
you,"  she  announced,  "I  know  them." 

"  I  admit  — "  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"They're  stupid.  Of  course  it's  his  duty  to  help 
them.  They  needn't  think  we  don't  understand;  W. 
B.  understands  perfectly,  but  he's  not  going  to  do 
it,  he  can't,  he  doesn't  care.  He  can't  care;  he  — 
he  is  like  a  dead  man  walking  round  watching.  His 
eyes  —  his  eyes — "  Her  voice  became  a  whisper; 
then  stopped;  her  mouth  twisted.  Gower  watching 
her  with  appalled  attention  felt  that  he  must  dash 
from  the  house,  if  she  cried.  Peggy  in  tears  was 
just  the  final  stroke  that  his  nerves  could  not  stand. 
He  would  rather  know  nothing,  and  go  away  for- 
ever and  get  himself  done  in  as  quickly  as  possible. 
But  she  did  not  cry;  she  was  made  of  fine  hard  stuff 
and  her  face  stiffened. 

He  waited  a  moment,  then,  timidly,  afraid  of  that 
white  little  face  beginning  again  to  twist  and  quiver, 
he  asked: 

"  Where  did  you  see  him?  " 

"  Here.  He  came  here  two  days  ago,  three  days 
after  she  left.  She  had  been  here  before;  he  had 
guessed  that.  He  asked  me  if  she  had  looked 
happy:  I  told  him  the  truth." 

"Which  was?" 


154  THE  TORTOISE 

"  That  she  was  transfigured." 

"  Then  God  help  them  both,  for  she's  not  happy 
now." 

She  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  "  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  her.  She  frightened  me.  Her  face  was 
a  blaze  of  light.  She  went  off  with  her  head  up, 
as  if  she  were  going  to  fly,  to  soar  straight  to 
Heaven.  It  takes  us  all  a  little  like  that,  but  with 
her  it  was  more  so  than  with  any  one  I'd  ever  seen. 
It  was  terribly  beautiful." 

"What  was  terribly  beautiful?" 

"  Her  joy,  her  passion,  visible  passionate  joy.  It 
showed,  so  that  I  hated  to  let  her  go  out  in  the 
street,  it  seemed  indecent  to  show  her,  to  the  street. 
I  would  have  kept  her  back  if  I  could,  but  what  could 
I  do?  Nothing  I  could  have  said  would  have  had 
any  effect.  ;She  was  invulnerable,  supernatural;  I 
wanted  to  shout  at  her  that  he  wasn't  worth  it,  that 
he  was  worth  nothing." 

"Who?     Worth  what?     Who?" 

"  Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe,  worth  her  love." 

"  Do  you  mean?  "  whispered  Jimmy  faintly;  "  do 
you  mean?"  He  felt  deathly  ill. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  yes,  yes,  it's  incredible,  it's  monstrous, 
but  that's  how  it  takes  us.  She  couldn't  fight  it; 
she  tried,  I  saw  her.  She  gave  him  up,  she  stuck 
to  William,  and  then,  at  the  first  breath  of  war,  at 
the  first  threat,  she  broke  loose  to  go  to  him.  Don't 
you  see?  Don't  you  see?  " 

Jimmy  huddled  in  his  chair  white  as  a  sheet,  his 
plump  arms  on  the  table,  his  blue  eyes  staring,  saw 


THE  TORTOISE  155 

indeed;  he   saw  so  much  that  he  wanted  to   die. 

"And  William  knows?"  he  asked  dully,  at  last. 

"Yes,  he  knows.  She  must  have  told  him;  she 
would  you  know.  She  is  brutally  honest.  He  knew 
that  she  had  meant  to  go  for  good.  He  came  to 
leave  a  message,  in  case  she  came  back  to  England. 
He  was  like  a  great  heavy  clown  made  in  white 
chalk  and  his  eyes  were  the  strangest  things  in 
Heaven  and  Earth.  He  said :  '  Don't  look  at  me, 
Peggy;  it  might  make  you  laugh  or  it  might  make 
you  cry.  Don't  look;  just  listen.'  Then  he  left  his 
message  and  went  away.  He  was  like  a  giant  clown 
with  a  face  of  white  chalk  and  tragic  eyes.  It's  only 
once  in  a  hundred  years  that  a  man  cares  for  a 
woman  as  much  as  he  cared  for  Helen.  Why  didn't 
Helen  understand?" 

"  God  forgive  her;  she's  paying  for  it  now." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  She  was  ghastly." 

Peggy  shook  her  head:  "That's  nothing.  St. 
Christe  has  gone  off  to  the  war.  That's  nothing." 

"  I  don't  know;  it  seemed  as  if  something  horrid 
had  happened  to  her,  something  humiliating,  shame- 
ful. I  may  be  wrong;  I  thought  she  was  crazy,  in- 
sane, I  mean.  She  hung  her  head  as  if  she  had  been 
whipped,  cuffed,  like  a  dog,  or  something  worse.  I 
don't  know  what  I'm  saying;  I'm  sorry,  it's  not  my 
business,  is  it?  There  is  nothing  to  do,  is  there?  " 

"  No,  nothing,  unless  —  somehow  one  got  her 
home,  unless  some  miracle  happened  before  he 
went." 


156  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Have  you  wired?  " 

"  Yes,  three  times;  no  answer." 

"  Telegrams  are  all  held  up." 

"  I  know." 

"  Trains  aren't  running." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  And  if  she  came,  would  he?  " 

"How  could  he?" 

They  stared  at  it,  in  silence. 

And  at  last,  Jimmy  got  up,  very  wearily,  and  took 
up  his  hat  and  stick  and  turned  to  the  door.  The 
carnation  in  his  buttonhole  was  crumpled,  but  not 
more  crumpled  than  he  himself. 

"  I  would  have  accepted  to  burn  in  hell  for  W. 
B.,"  he  said  solemnly  and  his  mild  blue  eyes  fixed 
on  Lady  Sidlington  had  the  look  of  a  child  whose 
heart  has  been  broken.  She  nodded  back  at  him 
gravely. 

"  Perhaps  William  will  want  to  see  you  after  all," 
she  said.  "  I'd  stay  in  town  tonight,  if  I  were  you." 
She  went  with  him  to  the  door. 

He  had  dined  alone  at  his  club  when  the  message 
came.  He  was  asked  by  Lady  Sidlington  to  call 
that  evening  at  a  boarding  house  in  Bloomsbury,  No. 
32,  Tottenham  Court  Road. 

He  was  at  the  house  by  nine  o'clock.  A  respect- 
able person  told  him  to  go  to  the  top  up  two  flights 
and  knock  at  the  door  opposite  the  stairs.  It  oc- 
curred to  him  while  he  climbed  the  narrow  stair  that 
he  had  never  been  in  such  a  house  before.  It  con- 
veyed nothing  to  him.  The  stairs  went  up  between 


THE  TORTOISE  157 

dark  blank  walls.  On  each  landing  was  a  gas  jet 
turned  low.  People  presumably  lived  there,  a  kind 
of  people  that  he  did  not  know.  He  thought :  "  If 
one  wanted  to  be  lost,  no  qne  could  find  one  here. 
There  are  thousands  of  houses  just  like  this.  If 
one  went  in  to  any  one  of  these,  one  would  find  the 
same  steep  stairs  covered  with  the  same  oilcloth, 
the  same  dark  enclosing  walls,  the  same  pale  jets 
of  gas.  One  could  spend  one's  life  knocking  at 
doors,  one  after  another  all  alike." 

He  felt  the  uncomfortable  thumping  of  his  heart 
as  he  stopped  on  the  top  landing.  He  did  not  really 
believe  that  W.  B.  was  there  under  that  dismal  roof. 
He  was  walking  in  his  sleep;. he  would  wake  up  in 
a  moment  and  find  himself  at  home,  in  the  country, 
in  bed,  with  his  valet  telling  him  firm  things  about 
getting  up.  His  hand  was  on  the  door  knob  of  a 
blank  inimical  door,  beyond  which  was  some  dread 
revelation,  or  nothing.  He  knocked  with  the 
knuckles  of  his  other  hand,  holding  his  ear  close  to 
the  door.  No  sound  came  from  within.  He  lis- 
tened, his  hand  of  itself  turned  the  door  knob,  and 
he  entered  the  room.  It  was  large  and  dark  and 
silent.  It  reminded  him  of  a  garret  or  box  room, 
but  there  was  a  shaded  lamp  on  a  table,  and  beside 
the  table  William  Chudd  was  seated. 


IV 


THE  great  bulk  did  not  stir  at  the  opening  of 
the  door.  One  would  have  believed  it  in- 
capable of  movement.  Its  mass  was  inani- 
mate; it  seemed  scarce,  human  and  terribly  heavy, 
and  its  heaviness  betrayed  no  inner  power  that  could 
conceivably  summon  it  to  move.  So,  a  great  heap 
of  wreckage,  so,  a  giant  lump  of  stuff  or  a  water- 
logged bale  might  appear  after  sinking  through  a 
great  depth  of  water,  so  it  would  settle  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  be  anchored  there  forever  by  its  own  iner- 
tion,  its  invincible  weight.  No  tides  would  move 
it  ever;  no  strange  creatures  swimming  about  it, 
would  work  upon  it  any  change.  It  was  there  to 
stay  because  it  was  a  dead  enormous  weight,  and 
the  resistance  of  its  lifelessness  was  greater  than 
the  energy  of  life.  Of  such  an  aspect  was  the  bulk 
in  the  cavernous  room. 

Gower  overwhelmed  by  this  impression  said  to 
himself.  "  He  is  dead,"  but  a  voice  thin  as  a  string, 
that  seemed  to  draw  itself  out  from  the  mass  in  the 
armchair  said,  as  if  in  answer: 

"I'm  not  dead,  Jimmy.  Don't  look  so  fright- 
ened." 

Gower  approached  the  figure.  He  saw  then  in 
the  light  of  the  solitary  lamp  the  white  face  and  the 
strange  eyes  that  Peggy  had  told  him  about.  The 

158 


THE  TORTOISE  159 

eyes  were  very  small.  They  might  have  been  points 
burnt  into  that  white  surface  leaving  a  red  spark  to 
linger  in  each  one,  and  those  tiny  glaring  sparks 
were  the  only  living  things  in  the  mass  of  the  man. 
The  thin  voice  that  made  the  soft  whirring  sound 
like  the  singing  of  a  taut  cord,  seemed  not  to  belong 
to  the  man  at  all.  It  might  have  come  from  a 
ghost,  or  a  practical  joker  behind  a  curtain. 

"  Sit  down,"  it  whirred:  "  I've  one  or  two  things 
to  ask  you  and  one  or  two  things  to  say.  You  will 
excuse  my  not  getting  up.  I  can't.  I  am  too  fat, 
I  shall  not  get  up  until  tomorrow  morning  and  then 
I  shall  never  sit  down  again." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Jimmy  until  afterwards,  walk- 
ing the  hot  night  streets  in  a  fever  of  misery,  that 
the  words  William  Chudd  uttered  during  that  hour 
were  strange.  It  was  as  if  the  impression  of  his 
complete  annihilation  had  been  so  immense  and  in- 
disputable that  anything  he  might  say  was  perforce 
logical  and  reasonable.  If  one  were  listening  to  a 
man  talking  from  the  other  side  of  the  grave  one 
would  not  be  surprised  if  he  talked  differently  from 
men  at  the  club.  Ghosts  have,  presumably,  a  lan- 
guage of  their  own.  Condemned  men  in  cells  are 
allowed  differences  of  tone  and  phrase.  Who  knows 
what  may  have  been  the  utterances  of  victims  near- 
ing  the  end  of  their  agony  on  the  rack.  Jimmy 
knew  nothing  of  these  things.  Neither  history,  nor 
mediumistic  seances,  furnished  his  mind  with  images, 
nor  did  he  think  of  Chudd  as  a  man  about  to  die; 
nevertheless  he  was  not  surprised  at  the  words  that 


160  THE  TORTOISE 

came  from  behind  that  deathly  mask.  The  desola- 
tion of  a  human  being  loomed  enormously  before 
him  and  commanded  his  reverent  and  minute  atten- 
tion. He  had  no  will  left  with  which  to  analyse  and 
no  heart  with  which  to  lament.  His  faculties  were 
paralyzed  by  the  knowledge  of  what  was  before  him; 
he  could  only  listen. 

"I  am  too  fat  for  anything  but  butcher's  meat," 
the  voice  went  on.  "  Helen  is  not  a  cannibal,  Helen 
is  a  lady.  If  she  were  nothing  more  than  that,  that 
in  itself  would  be  enough  to  explain.  The  only 
thing  that  is  not  explicable  is  why  she  waited  so  long, 
and  why  she  ever  came. 

"  Olympus  is  a  long  way  from  the  swamp  in  which 
monsters  wallow.  What  made  her  descend?  She 
floated  down.  I  did  not  drag  her.  How  could  I 
have  done  so,  had  I  dared  attempt  it.  My  paw  had 
not  a  great  enough  reach  to  attain  her,  up  there.  Be- 
sides, I  saw  her  coming,  I  watched  her,  floating,  sink- 
ing down  on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  golden  in  the 
light  of  Heaven,  I,  wallowing  in  my  swamp,  looked 
up  and  saw  her.  That  was  long  ago,  oh  very  long 
ago,  I  would  put  it  as  a  few  aeons  before  the  Myce- 
naean Age.  And  as  she  only  stayed  a  little  while,  ten 
years,  or  ten  days,  it  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago, 
that  she  went  away,  but  on  that  point  I  am  not  very 
clear.  I  do  not  remember  her  actual  going,  I  did  not 
see  her  go.  She  slipped  away  when  I  was  asleep, 
sunk  deep  in  disgusting  sleep  and  I  only  knew  that 
she  was  gone  when  I  —  found  she  was  gone." 

The  voice  stopped.     A  sound  like  a  shudder  of 


THE  TORTOISE  161 

wind  followed  its  high  small  chant.  A  sigh  of  un- 
utterable weariness  breathed  up  from  the  wide  chest 
and  was  lost  in  the  still  suffocating  gloom  of  the 
room,  then  the  voice  began  again,  its  falsetto  notes 
were  spun  smoothly  from  the  colourless,,  motionless 
lips. 

"  In  the  meantime  Europe  was  moving  toward 
war.  One  observed  upon  the  face  of  Europe  spots, 
like  fever  sores,  angry  chafed  places.  One  observed 
the  growing  restlessness  of  nations.  The  sore 
places  seemed  infected,  the  fever  spread,  the  pulse 
grew  rapid,  one  could  feel  its  heightened  beating. 
A  day  came  when  the  pulse  of  Europe  throbbing  un- 
der your  hand,  leaped  like  a  mad  thing.  Some  of  us 
felt  it,  some  of  us  watched,  knowing  what  was  brew- 
ing beyond  the  horizon.  We  saw  the  nations 
crouching,  eyeing  one  another  ready  to  spring. 
Then  a  voice  over  there  said  the  word  war,  and  they 
sprang.  They  were  at  each  other's  throats.  Pre- 
sumably, they  do  not  know  what  it  means,  this  death 
grapple.  It  is  possible  that  each  one  believes  he 
will  emerge  intact  from  the  struggle.  They  do  not 
know  how  difficult  it  will  be  to  let  go. 

"Life  as  we  have  heretofore  understood  it,  is  at 
an  end  forever.  The  chief  business  of  life  will 
from  now  on  be  the  business  of  extermination.  It 
is  good  to  understand  that  at  the  beginning  and  make 
one's  preparations.  I  have  made  mine;  my  life 
has  ceased,  I  am  prepared  to  lend  a  hand  in  this  mat- 
ter of  extermination,  and  this  brings  me  to  certain 
practical  questions,  in  which  I  wish  to  trust  you  with 


1 62  THE  TORTOISE 

my  confidence.  You  are  my  friend,  you  are  honest, 
I  used  to  love  you,  and  if  I  cannot  remember  quite 
what  that  means  it  is  because  it  was  so  long  ago  that 
I  ceased  to  be  a  human  being.  I  am  a  private  in 
His  Majesty's  army,  nothing  more.  I  will  not  tell 
you  the  name  of  the  regiment  I  belong  to,  and  I  ask 
you  not  to  endeavour  to  find  out.  All  business  and 
government  affairs  in  which  I  was  concerned,  I  have 
put  aside.  Everything  is  in  order,  even  to  the  dis- 
posal of  my  personal  belongings.  There  remain 
certain  things  that  belonged  to  Helen.  There  is 
the  house  Red  Gables.  Lewis  &  Osborne  are 
charged  to  keep  it  open  and  in  repair,  and  to  keep 
up  the  garden  in  so  far  as  that  is  possible.  Her 
jewels  are  at  Barclay's  Bank,  the  Westminster 
Branch.  Her  two  hunters  were  taken  by  the  Re- 
mount people,  the  chestnut  hack  is  at  Tattersalls. 
The  Renaud  limousine  is  in  her  garage  in  the  coun- 
try. In  regard  to  her  banking  arrangements,  no 
special  changes  had  to  be  made.  Her  income  will 
fluctuate  less  than  most  people's,  but,  as  I  remember, 
she  had  never  any  definite  idea  as  to  its  extent  or  lim- 
itations. I  have  therefore  asked  her  solicitor  to 
keep  her  informed  and  advised  each  month  as  to  the 
amount  available  for  spending.  She  never  liked 
making  out  cheques,  and  in  fact  could  not  seem  to 
grasp  the  use  of  stubs  in  a  cheques  book;  however, 
I  —  I  presume  she  will  manage  somehow." 

His  voice  cracked.  It  stopped  in  a  kind  of  squeak. 
He  remained  silent  a  moment  and  the  lids  fell  over 
his  small  burning  eyes.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was 


THE  TORTOISE  163 

in  a  different  tone,  scarcely  louder  than  a  whisper 
and  his  words  were  blurred,  running  one  into  the 
other  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  understand  what  he 
said. 

"  The  most  superb  women  have  often  something 
very  childish  about  them.  Helen  could  not  do  sums ; 
she  used  to  bite  her  fingers;  the  knuckles  of  the  fore- 
finger of  her  left  hand  until  it  bled,  and  sometimes 
she  would  cry.  You  would  not  believe  that  she 
could  cry  like  a  little  girl  and  want  to  have  her  hair 
stroked  and  be  soothed,  would  you?  Just  because 
arithmetic  was  so  beastly,  and  her  accounts  came 
out  wrong?  I  have  seen  her  like  that.  I  have 
stroked  her  hair,  she  let  me,  I  it  was,  who  soothed! 
her.  She  ran  to  me  when  she  was  in  trouble  with 
those  figures.  Why  did  I  not  understand  then  in 
those  moments  that  she  was  just  a  child?  Her  ap- 
pearance deceived  me;  she  looked  a  Goddess.  Her 
beauty  always  bewildered  me.  If  I  had  been  blind,  I 
would  have  known  how  to  make  her  happy.  When- 
ever I  was  away  from  her  I  made  plans  and  thought 
over  my  mistakes  and  worked  out  new  ways  of 
joy  for  her.  I  used  to  lay  deep  schemes  to  make 
her  laugh,  but  when  I  came  back  into  her  presence, 
I  was  afraid  to  try.  She  was  too  beautiful,  I  lost 
confidence  in  myself,  I  hung  before  her  dumb,  quak- 
ing, stupid,  afraid  to  move  a  finger  lest  she  run  away 
and  hide  from  me. 

One  day  she  fainted  at  the  sight  of  me  coming 
towards  her.  That  was  the  day  when  I  knew  — 
about  the  war  and  about  her  going.  Both  inevit- 


164  THE  TORTOISE 

able  —  It  is  terrible  to  know,  and  to  wait,  I  suppose. 
I  hoped.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  I  was  struggling 
all  that  time.  I  remember  hours  of  exhaustion, 
such  weariness  as  is  unknown  to  most  men,  exhaus- 
tion produced  by  the  struggling  of  my  hope  that 
found  it  so  hard  to  die.  That  hope  kept  me  breath- 
ing, praying,  watching,  wanting,  waiting." 

He  paused,  then  went  on: 

"  When  she  was  here,  I  did  not  understand  her; 
now  that  she  is  dead,  I  understand.  Her  heart  was 
just  a  child's  heart,  a  little,  holy,  ardent  thing  throb- 
bing pitifully  in  a  queenly  bosom.  Poor  little  heart, 
it  needed  beauty  and  tenderness,  and  it  had  in  me  a 
monster  of  ugliness  and  clumsiness.  How  could  a 
hippopotamus  convey  tenderness?  Conceive  of  the 
grotesque  gesture  meant  to  convey  the  finest  and 
most  frail  of  all  the  emotions  of  the  soul;  suppose 
the  ugly  beast  wanted  to  smile,  even  to  smile.  The 
result  would  be  appalling  and  the  lift  of  its  paw  that 
willed  to  caress  would  hideously  crush. 

"  When  I  think  of  the  inrush  of  joy  that  the  sight 
of  her  gave  me,  how  through  my  eyes  that  beheld 
her  I  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  all  lovely 
mystery,  I  realise  how  my  presence  must  have 
blocked  the  way  of  her  soul,  I,  I,  enormous  and  fat, 
shut  her  in  and  hid  the  romantic  horizon  where  the 
fairies  of  love  and  high  fancy  dance  and  beckon  and 
throw  kisses  to  the  yearning  hearts  of  mortals.  I 
was  her  jailor,  her  giant,  her  curse. 

"  Once  she  was  ill,  then  in  her  weakness  she  clung 
to  me.  In  those  days,  my  arms  cradled  her.  She 


THE  TORTOISE  16$ 

would  ask  to  be  carried,  and  I  would  walk  with  her 
fevered  head  on  my  shoulder;  then,  with  her  eyes 
closed,  she  drew  comfort  from  my  strength,  and 
trusting  it,  would  fall  asleep,  and  I  would  be  allowed 
to  watch  her  as  she  slept. 

"  Now  that  she  is  gone  I  remember  her  weakness 
and  I  see  that  when  she  was  most  strong,  even  then 
she  was  weak. 

"  Now  that  she  is  dead  I  understand.  Beauty  is 
an  illusion,  but  I  loved  her  beyond  and  in  spite  of  her 
beauty.  Life  is  a  curious  dream,  bounded  by  the 
mirage  of  the  world,  but  all  about  it  and  under  it  and 
beyond  it,  is  death.  Death  is  the  only  reality,  and 
sorrow  is  its  voice  in  the  world.  We  struggle  to  be 
happy  and  we  fight  to  live,  knowing  that  life  leads  to 
death  and  that  we  are  born  so  that  we  may  know 
what  it  means  to  die. 

"  I  took  a  more  active  part  in  the  gigantic  farce 
than  most  men.  I  dealt  in  large  pretences  and  ma- 
nipulated the  scenery  and  puppets  on  a  stage  that  was 
quaking.  Now  that  is  finished,  for  me  there  remains 
the  only  reality,  death.  They,  the  puppets,  wanted 
to  keep  me  behind  the  scenes.  They  said  that  they 
wanted  my  advice  about  Germany,  Russia,  the  Bal- 
kans, about  harvests,  mines  and  oil  wells;  of  what 
good  would  my  opinion  be  now,  when  it  is  all  summed 
up  in  the  word  "destruction?  "  It  is  better  for  me 
to  follow  the  lead  of  death  and  go  out  and  kill. 

"  Tomorrow  the  army  owns  me ;  I  shall  go  with 
it,  to  kill  the  Germans  who  are  certainly  those  who 
should  be  exterminated  if  any  one  else  is  to  survive, 


1 66  THE  TORTOISE 

and  if  children  are  ever  to  be  born  to  joy  in  the 
world.  For  humanity  is  destined  to  pursue  its  illu- 
sions through  the  centuries,  and  it  is  perhaps  worth 
while  trying  to  clear  the  scene  of  brutes  and  cow- 
ards. Tomorrow,  the  army  owns  me  and  takes  me 
away  from  the  places  that  I  used  to  know  and  where 
I  am  known  as  a  first-rate  scene-shifter. 

"  Ah  yes,  I  remember,  it  was  for  that  I  asked 
you  to  come."  His  eyelids  lifted.  The  burnt  spots 
stared  out  of  the  wide  white  face,  the  massive  fore- 
head, with  its  finely  modelled  temples,  caught  the 
full  light  of  the  lamp,  and  the  light  seemed  to  reveal 
under  that  shining  surface,  the  wonderful  work- 
manship of  some  power  that  had  formed  a  great 
brain:  William  Chudd's  forehead  dominated  his 
face,  at  last,  for  the  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  the 
fullness  of  it  had  perceptibly  withered. 

"  People  may  ask  for  me,"  he  said.  "  Some  may 
try  to  find  me.  I  wish  you  to  defeat  them  in  their 
efforts.  It  is  necessary  that  I  be  left  alone.  Make 
it  clear  that  no  power  on  earth  can  bring  me  back  to 
live  among  them.  Convince  them  of  the  finality  of 
the  thing.  Convey  to  them  the  sense  of  what  I  am 
at  this  moment  conveying  to  you  and  what  I  see  re- 
flected in  your  face,  my  annihilation,  my  extinction. 
Tell  those  that  ask  out  of  kindness  that  the  only 
kindness  they  can  do  me,  is  to  behave  as  if  I  were 
dead. 

"  Death,  you  see,  is  the  one  complete  solution  for 
such  problems  as  mine.  Death  with  nothing  beyond 
it.  Oblivion  soaking  me  up,  not  only  my  conscious- 


THE  TORTOISE  167 

ness,  but  also  the  memory  of  me  in  the  minds  of  men. 
Such  shall  be  and  must  be  my  freedom.  And  if  at 
any  time,  for  some  time,  who  knows,  she  may  come 
back  to  her  home,  if  Helen  should  come  to  you  and 
ask,  tell  her  what  I  tell  you  now.  Tell  her  that  it  is 
her  freedom  and  my  own  that  I  want  and  will  obtain, 
freedom  from  all  clinging  clutch  of  memory  and  from 
all  horrors  of  the  imagination.  You  see  I  must  con- 
sider her  as  dead.  Anything  else  would  be  too  ter- 
rible. If  it  is  an  illusion  that  I  allow  myself,  it  is 
only  in  anticipating  the  day  when  it  will  be  literally 
true.  She  will  die,  some  day.  I  had  thought  to  be 
with  her  until  then  and  watch  the  kind  lines  of  time 
on  her  face.  I  imagined  that  she  would  grow  more 
and  more  lovely  as  she  grew  old.  I  believed  that 
she  would  be  beside  me,  white  haired,  erect  and 
lovely,  and  that  we  would  leave  the  earth  together 
in  one  bound,  but  now  she  is  gone.  The  end  is  now, 
and  I  am  as  lonely  as  if  I  were  the  only  human  being 
left  on  the  earth.  Loneliness  is  another  reality. 
Loneliness  ; —  we  are  all  afraid  of  it,  I  am  afraid  of 
it." 

His  voice  faltered;  it  seemed  to  scrape  against  an 
obstruction  in  his  throat.  He  spoke  again,  more 
loudly  and  with  difficulty. 

"  If  in  the  meantime  it  is  actual  legal  freedom  she 
wants,  tell  her  that  it  will  soon  be  hers.  The  War 
Office  will  inform  her  on  the  day  that  this  monstrous 
carcass  no  longer  bulges  upon  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  That  is  all,  I  think.  I  do  not  seem  to  have 
said  to  you  what  I  meant  to  say.  There  were  things, 


1 68  THE  TORTOISE 

I  cannot  remember  what  they  were.  I  told  you 
about  Helen's  money  matters,  did  I  not?  —  Yes,  I 
told  you,  and  how  she  could  not  look  after  them. 
Child,  little  child,  wild  thing;  it  was  for  her  I  did  all 
the  things  that  I  can't  remember.  They  called  it 
serving  one's  country;  I  did  it  for  her,  and  I  was 
wrong.  It  did  not  make  me  more  pleasant  in  her 
eyes;  I  remained  as  fat  as  ever,  I  am  so  fat  I  cannot 
move.  Pounds  and  pounds  of  flesh,  monstrous 
flesh,  ugly.  Ugliness  and  loneliness,  these  two  things 
I  keep  by  me,  the  rest  is  gone.  Loneliness!"  The 
voice  stopped,  the  lips  closed,  the  pale  eyelids  drop- 
ped and  with  the  completion  of  that  infinitesimal 
ripple  of  movement  the  man  was  still. 

Jimmy  Gower  was  afraid  to  speak.  And  what 
indeed  had  he  to  say?  It  was  clear  that  no  word  of 
his  could  penetrate  the  fastness  of  that  immobility. 
He  waited  in  the  suffocating  gloom  of  the  room  un- 
til he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Tiptoeing  to  the 
door,  he  looked  back  at  the  great  pale  head  with  its 
strange  dead  mask,  then  he  went  out,  leaving  Wil- 
liam Chudd  alone,  like  some  giant  image  of  extinct 
humanity  presiding  over  eternal  solitude. 


V 


DURING  the  days  that  followed,  when  first 
the  men  in  khaki  marched  through  London 
to  the  strains  of  Tipperary,  camped  in  Hyde 
Park  and  drilled  in  Regents  Park,  and  said  good-bye 
in  thousands  to  white  faced  women  at  Victoria  sta- 
tion; in  those  days  when  Kitchener's  army  rose  up 
out  of  the  smoking  cities  and  the  smiling  fields  of 
England  and  crowds  of  men  hung  outside  recruiting 
offices,  the  fate  of  Lady  Peggy  hung  in  the  balance. 
For  Lady  Peggy  was  determined  to  take  part  in  the 
war  and  had  set  her  lovely  face  toward  France. 

Her  appearance  and  her  record  were  against  her, 
her  millions  and  her  persuasive  tongue  were  for  her ; 
oh,  very  much  so.  She  was,  so  they  said  at  the  War 
Office  and  at  Devonshire  House,  wagging  their  wise 
old  heads,  far  too  pretty  in  that  uniform,  to  be 
turned  loose  upon  an  army,  French  or  English.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  wanted  to  give !  there  you  were. 
What  she  was  prepared  to  give  made  them  lift  their 
hands.  The  hands  remained  lifted;  no  one  knew 
whether  they  would  come  down  in  a  sign  of  accept- 
ance and  benediction,  or  whether  after  all  Mrs. 
Grundy  would  work  the  strings  that  controlled  them 
and  produce  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  Perceiving 
Mrs.  Grundy,  in  the  background  and  annoyed  with 
her,  as  she  had  thought  she  would  never  have  occas- 

169 


170  THE  TORTOISE 

ion  to  be,  Peggy  began  to  talk.  She  talked  in 
English  and  she  talked  in  French.  Strange  potent 
words  fell  from  her  lips;  technical  terms,  in  all  their 
magic  played  upon  the  hearing  of  stern  officials. 
Fracture  beds,  extensions,  water  pillows,  sterilizing 
drums,  X-ray  apparatus,  operating  tables,  ether 
masques,  hypodermic  needles,  the  principles  of 
asepsis,  she  was  lost  in  none  of  these  things  and  dealt 
in  dozens,  and  in  prices  with  a  liberal  exactness. 
The  principles  of  asepsis,  was  one  of  her  favourite 
phrases.  She  made  of  it  the  text  of  her  sermon, 
and  shuddered  at  the  horrid  vision  of  infected 
wounds  that  might  be  cleansed  were  she  allowed  to 
cross  that  churning  channel.  To  ensure  perfect 
asepsis,  and  fine  surgery,  and  that  close  to  the  line  of 
battle,  to  provide  the  most  perfect  surgical  equipment 
in  the  smallest  possible  compass,  easily  transported, 
magically  light,  this  was  her  formula.  It  would  ring 
out  bravely,  then  her  voice  would  drop;  "  And,  "  she 
would  add,  "  to  save  the  lives  of  those  heroes,  our 
tommies  or  the  French  poilus,  to  bring  them  comfort 
and  peace  and  the  hope  of  life,  that  is  what  I  would 
do.  How  can  you  refuse  me?  A  small  effort,  nat- 
urally it  must  seem  so  to  you,  but  if  out  of  the  thous- 
and, only  a  hundred  come  to  us  and  are  saved,  will 
it  not  be  worth  while  ?  How  dare  you  say  no  to  me  ? 
What  right,"  and  she  would  smile,  "  has  your  horrid 
red  tape  to  interfere  with  saving  men?  " 

How  indeed  could  they  refuse?     For  themselves 
yes,  the  War  Office  was  stubborn,  it  wanted  no  vol- 


THE  TORTOISE  171 

untary  effort;  its  medical  corps  was  fully  competent, 
but  for  France,  they  would  allow  the  unit  to  be 
formed.  The  gesture  was  one  of  benediction  and 
the  French  authorities  smiled  on  Peggy,  thanking 
her  in  terms  that  filled  her  eyes  with  tears. 

"  We've  the  worst  manners  in  the  world,"  she 
sighed  when  the  final  verdict  was  given.  "  You'd 
think  the  only  gentlemen  in  London  were  the 
French."  She  did  not  realize  that  she  was  an  ob- 
ject of  fear  to  those  old  Anglo-Saxons,  nor  would 
she  believe  it,  even  when  Mary  Bridge  told  her  to 
tuck  her  curls  under  her  cap. 

Lady  Sidlington  saw  no  connection  between  tango 
parties  and  a  field  ambulance.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  because  she  had  once  patronized  the  former, 
she  could  not  undertake  the  latter.  Making  ban- 
dages came  easily  to  her  fingers.  If  she  could  not 
hunt  five  days  a  week,  she  could  work  seven,  and  if 
no  chauffeurs  were  forthcoming,  she  would  drive 
herself,  in  Belgium,  France,  or  along  the  road  to 
Berlin;  the  chauffeurs  were  forthcoming  quickly 
enough,  however. 

Doctors  and  surgeons,  and  nurses  thronged  the 
big  house  in  Eaton  Square  and  Peggy  in  dark  blue 
serge  with  no  curls  showing  under  her  veil,  or  per- 
haps just  one  over  her  ear,  received  them  sweetly, 
her  lips  stained  from  much  chewing  of  a  blue  pencil. 
She  greeted  them  all  with  her  loveliest  smile  topped 
by  just  the  smallest  most  business-like  frown,  and 
said: 


172  THE  TORTOISE 

"  It  is  really  too  sweet  of  you  to  help  us.  Please 
talk  to  Miss  Bridge  about  details;  you'll  find  her  in 
the  library." 

And  Mary  Bridge  with  professional  grimness 
sorted  them  out.  A  stenographer  at  her  elbow  and 
a  bell  under  her  hand,  and  a  boy  scout  at  the  library 
door,  she  interviewed,  dictated,  telephoned.  She 
had  insisted  that  Peggy  should  leave  her  alone  and 
never  enter  the  room  unless  she  rang  the  bell  three 
times. 

"  You're  a  darling,  Peggy,  but  you've  no  practical 
sense,  and  if  you  want  me  to  organize  the  thing  you 
mustn't  bother  me.  Beside  you'll  have  quite  enough 
to  do  getting  round  all  the  old  men,  so  just  leave  me 
alone  unless  I  send  for  you."  And  Peggy  obeyed, 
she  went  forth,  she  smiled,  she  persuaded,  she  melted 
hearts  of  stone.  Obedient  to  the  library  bell  she 
would  appear  in  the  door  and  listen. 

"  Peggy»  tne  transport  people  are  being  very 
nasty.  They  object  to  half  of  all  our  staff;  you'll 
have  to  go  and  see  a  Colonel  named  Stratham.  Ex- 
plain to  him  that  the  motors  aren't  touring  cars,  or 
only  one  of  them,  and  that  the  operating  tables  aren't 
sofas  and  that  we're  not  taking  one  thing  more  than 
absolutely  necessary." 

Peggy  would  go,  the  colonel  would  begin  by  being 
cross,  and  end  by  being  gallant  and  remain  an  ardent 
friend. 

Stump  Arkwright  began  talking  of  Peggy's  army 
and  Peggy's  war.  Bond  Street  stared  sympatheti- 
cally at  the  red  crosses  on  the  doors  of  her  limousine 


THE  TORTOISE  173 

and  many  a  man  in  khaki  smiled  at  the  sweet  face  in 
the  blue  veil  behind  the  glass  window.  Peggy  was 
foolish,  and  Peggy  was  wise. 

She  knew  her  limitations  and  sat  meekly  at  the 
feet  of  her  surgeons,  and  let  her  matron  discard  al- 
most all  her  pet  things  and  listened  with  angelic  pa- 
tience to  Mary  scolding  about  prices. 

"  Peggy >  these  Turkish  towels  are  twice  the  price 
of  the  others." 

"  But,  dear,  they're  nicer,  they're  pretty,  they  have 
a  blue  stripe." 

"  Who  wants  bath  towels  to  be  pretty?  They're 
no  better  in  quality;  you  can't  have  them.  It's  mad 
extravagance." 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  and  Peggy  would  acquiesce 
wistfully.  In  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  had  hoped 
everything  might  be  pretty,  but  she  knew  she  was 
foolish. 

Sometimes  when  Mary  did  not  war>t  her,  she 
would  go  shopping.  The  result  was  as  a  rule  con- 
sidered lamentable.  She  could  not  resist  blue 
enamel,  and  jugs  and  basins  of  minute  size,  but  of 
that  heavenly  blue,  began  to  arrive  in  hundreds. 

"  They  are  not  suitable,  we  must  send  them  back." 

"  But,  Mary,  the  enamel's  just  as  good  even  if  it 
is  blue." 

"  I'm  not  objecting  to  the  colour,  darling,  it's  the 
size." 

"  Oh,  are  they  so  small?  " 

"  Absurdly.  Think  of  scrubbing  a  whole  man,  in 
that  much  water." 


174  THE  TORTOISE 

"  I  didn't  think  of  that.     I'm  so  sorry." 
"  I  know  you  didn't;  you  never  scrubbed  a  sol- 
dier." 

"  But  the  people  at  Harrods  will  be  so  disap- 
pointed if  I  send  them  back." 

Peggy's  brow  was  puckered;  then  it  lightened. 
"  I'll  give  them  to  the  children's  hospital,  may  I  ?  " 
"  You  dear,  but  of  course  you  may." 
Peggy's  friends  were  amazed  at  her.     A  feeling 
of  awe  took  possession  of  her  many  admirers. 

"  By  Jove,  she's  an  angel,  she's  a  saint.  Fancy 
her  going  out  there  to  rough  it !  Have  you  seen  her 
boots?  Field  boots,  old  man,  the  real  thing,  and 
on  those  feet,  and  a  camp  bed,  X  pattern.  She  says 
she's  going  to  live  in  a  tent." 

In  the  matter  of  personal  wardrobe,  Peggy  was 
certainly  reasonable.  "  We  must  have  warm  un- 
derclothes, they  say:  flannel  combinations,  ugh,  and 
weary  dark  blue  pyjamas  and  high  woollen  boots,  so 
that  if  we're  called  suddenly  in  the  night,  we'll  be 
decent."  But  her  greatest  proof  of  good  faith  was 
shown  in  the  fact  that  she  put  away  the  dear  little 
red  cross  in  rubies  that  the  very  nicest  man  in  the 
world  had  given  her,  and  pinned  her  collar  with  the 
regulation  brooch,  the  result  of  all  of  which  was  that 
Mary  Bridge  a  week  after  the  ceremony  of  benedic- 
tion announced  that  the  unit  was  ready  to  start  as 
soon  as  the  War  Office  gave  the  word.  It  consisted 
of  two  surgeons,  one  medical  man,  three  dressers  and 
twelve  fully  trained  nurses,  tons  of  material,  four 
ambulances,  two  motor  lorries,  and  one  touring  car. 


THE  TORTOISE  175 

Portable  huts  or  tents  were  to  be  sent  on  demand,  if 
no  building  were  found  to  house  them. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  the  proceedings  that  old 
B'randon  turned  up  from  the  country  and  begged  her 
ladyship  for  a  moment  alone. 

"  Mrs.  Chudd  is  at  home,  your  ladyship.  I've 
been  hoping  you'd  come,  but  when  I  saw  how  things 
were  turning  out,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  let  you  know. 
It's  not  my  place  I  know,  and  Mrs.  Chudd  would  be 
very  angry  if  she  knew,  but  I  felt  it  my  duty,  Mr. 
Chudd  being  away  at  the  war  and  there  being  no  one 
but  me  to  look  after  her  now." 

"  You  were  quite  right,  Brandon.  When  did  she 
get  back?" 

"  A  week  ago,  my  Lady.  She  arrived  in  a  taxi, 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  with  all  her  bags  round 
her  and  her  face  as  white  as  a  sheet.  She  said  she 
had  found  the  home  in  Curzon  Street  closed,  not  even 
a  caretaker  there  and  so  she  had  motored  down, 
straight  away  that  evening.  She  was  in  a  very 
strange  state,  my  Lady,  so  cold,  we  couldn't  get  her 
warm  and  that  on  an  August  evening  with  the  air  as 
soft  and  not  a  breath  of  wind.  We  put  her  to  bed 
and  gave  her  a  drink  of  hot  milk.  She  wouldn't  eat 
anything  whatever,  not  so  much  as  an  egg,  and  she's 
been  like  that  ever  since." 

"Cold,  you  mean  ill?" 

"  No,  not  ill,  at  least  not  exactly,  but  she  won't  eat 
and  she  won't  speak,  scarcely  a  word  all  the  day; 
she  just  sits  in  the  library,  with  her  hands  crossed, 
not  even  a  book  in  them.  Whenever  we  go  in,  any 


1 76  THE  TORTOISE 

of  us,  the  maids  or  myself,  we  find  her  like  that  sit- 
ting and  looking  at  nothing.  She  doesn't  so  much  as 
notice  us  coming  and  going.  All  day  she  sits  in  the 
house,  it's  not  natural,  she  was  always  so  active,  my 
lady,  on  a  horse,  or  on  the  river,  or  motoring  some- 
where, or  with  people  about.  Not  a  living  soul  has 
been  near  her,  except  one  day  Mr.  Gower  came,  I 
should  say  Captain,  and  since  then  she's  been  even 
worse,  my  Lady.  She  walks  up  and  down  for  hours 
in  the  room,  and  she's  given  orders  to  admit  no  one. 
I  don't  know  as  one  ought  to  observe  such  orders, 
my  Lady,  seeing  as  how  she  can't  be  quite  herself." 

"  No,  Brandon,  one  shouldn't.  I'll  motor  down 
tomorrow." 

'  Thank  you,  my  Lady."     The  old  man  hesitated : 

'  You'll  perhaps  not  say  that  it  was  me  as  told  you, 

my  Lady.     I've  been  with  Mrs.  Chudd  for  ten  years 

and  I  wouldn't  like  to  leave  her  now  with  the  war 

on,  and  she  all  alone." 

'  You  can  trust  me,  Brandon." 

'  You'll  find  her  very  strange,  my  Lady.  Some- 
times she  quite  frightens  one.  It's  a  great  pity  Mr. 
Chudd  should  have  gone  off  to  the  war  so  sudden." 

Lady  Sidlington  was  not  sentimental.  She  hated 
people  who  sat  about  mooning  over  things  that  were 
finished  and  settled.  William  Chudd  had  gone  to 
the  army  and  Helen  had  come  home  too  late  to  see 
him.  She  had  no  sympathy  with  Helen.  When 
one  took  the  reins  in  one's  hands  one  was  supposed 
to  know  how  to  drive.  Helen  had  had  her  hour,  she 
had  been  to  see  her  lover,  and  her  lover  like  every 


THE  TORTOISE  177 

other  man  in  the  world  had  gone  to  the  war.  She 
was  no  more  unfortunate  than  hundreds  of  other 
people.  All  the  women  she  knew  were  living  on 
the  rack  of  suspense.  Every  one  loved  some  one 
out  there.  They  didn't  whine  about  it;  they  kept 
their  fears  to  themselves.  If  they  had  good  news 
they  shared  it,  if  they  had  bad  news  they  hid  them- 
selves from  sight;  if  they  had  no  news  at  all,  they 
kept  a  stiff  upper  lip.  Lady  Sidlington  admired  a 
stiff  upper  lip,  more  than  most  things.  And  she  ad- 
mired William  Chudd  more  than  most  men.  She 
regarded  his  resignation  from  public  life  as  an  admir- 
able act  of  extreme  simplicity.  The  war  fever  had 
seized  her  and  had  diminished  for  her  the  sense  of 
personal  issues.  She  no  longer  saw  William's  chalk 
white  face  and  tragic  eyes.  She' saw  him  brown  and 
enormous,  clad  in  khaki,  fighting  the  Germans. 
What  difference  did  it  make  that  he  was  an  officer 
or  a  tommy?  The  great  thing  was  that  he  was  a 
soldier  and  no  one  had  a  right  to  criticise  his  will  to 
be  one.  She  had  quarrelled  with  several  people 
about  him  and  had  been  rude  to  the  Prime  Minister's 
wife.  Stump  Arkwright  had  worried  her  to  exas- 
peration. He  had  given  her  to  understand  that  the 
Government  considered  William's  act  one  of  simple 
disloyalty  and  would  exercise  no  influence  on  his  be- 
half, and  she  had  told  him  to  mind  his  own  business, 
that  she  was  bored  with  politicians  and  politics  and 
that  he  needn't  come  to  see  her  again  until  he  had 
gone  out  and  won  a  Military  Cross  or  lost  a  leg. 
There  was  far  too  much  talk  in  London  about 


178  THE  TORTOISE 

Helen's  mysterious  absence.  Now  that  she,  Helen, 
was  back,  she  must  show  herself  and  put  an  end  to 
their  miserable  tongues.  She,  Peggy,  had  an  angry 
feeling  of  responsibility  for  Helen  and  admitted  the 
obligation  of  protecting  her.  Her  brain  worked 
rapidly  during  her  drive  to  the  country,  the  morning 
after  Brandon's  visit.  She  saw  what  she  had  to  do. 
She  had  to  make  Helen  come  with  her  to  France  and 
work. 

Arriving  at  Red  Gables,  she  made  straight  for  the 
library  and  walked  in  without  knocking.  He<len 
was  seated  on  the  window  seat,  her  back  to  the  gar- 
den, her  hands  crossed  in  her  lap,  her  head  bent  for- 
ward. Lady  Sidlington  spoke  abruptly: 

"  My  dear,  they  wouldn't  let  me  in;  I  was  too  sur« 
prised  to  snub  any  one.  Brandon  seems  to  have  for- 
gotten me.  So  you're  back  at  last.  I  came  to  find 
out  when  you  were  expected." 

"  I  gave  orders  that  I  would  see  no  one,"  said 
Helen  lifting  her  head. 

If  Lady  Sidlington  was  startled  by  the  face  that 
was  turned  to  her,  she  gave  no  sign  of  it. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you've  got  to  see  me  because 
I'm  here  and  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  thousand 
pounds." 

"A  thousand  pounds?     What  for?" 

"  For  my  hospital.  I'm  taking  a  hospital  out  to 
France  and  have  spent  on  it  all  that  I  can  afford." 

Helen  looked  at  her  without  speaking.  Lady 
Sidlington  described  that  look  to  herself  afterwards 


THE  TORTOISE  179 

as  stupid.  It  was  as  stupid  as  the  look  of  a  drunk- 
ard or  a  drugged  person. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I've  got  a  thousand 
pounds  to  give  you,"  said  Helen  slowly. 

Lady  Sidlington  was  troubled.  There  was  a 
heaviness  and  a  senselessness  about  Helen  that  dis- 
mayed her.  The  thought  came  to  her  that  perhaps 
Jimmy  had  been  right  and  that  something  dreadful 
and  horrid  had  happened  in  Paris.  She  spoke  more 
gently. 

"  Well,  dear,  you'll  give  me  what  you  can." 

"  Help  yourself,"  said  Helen  idiotically;  "  you're 
welcome  to  all  I've  got." 

Lady  Sidlington  was  disturbed;  the  remark  was 
foolish,  and  the  heavy  lidded  gaze  that  remained 
fixed  upon  her,  was  baffling. 

"  You've  not  been  drinking,  have  you?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"Drinking?" 

"You're  not  drunk,  or  drugged,  are  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  I'm  not  drunk." 

"  Well  then,  what's  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing." —  A  vague  gleam  of  anger  appeared 
in  the  heavy  stupefied  eyes.  "  I  told  you  I  had 
given  orders  not  to  admit  any  one ;  I  did  not  want 
to  see  you,  that's  all." 

u  That's  it,"  whispered  Lady  Sidlington's  in- 
stinct; "  make  her  angry." 

"  You're  behaving  disgracefully,"  she  announced 
in  a  loud  tone.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do?  The 


i8o  THE  TORTOISE 

world  is  at  war,  and  you  sit  here  with  your  hands 
folded.  Aren't  you  going  to  help?  Aren't  you  go- 
ing to  do  something?  What  right  have  you  to  sit 
twiddling  your  thumbs,  when  all  the  men  in  the  world 
are  going  out  to  be  killed?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Peggy." 

"  I  won't  hold  my  tongue,  you  make  me  ashamed." 

Certainly  she  had  not  anticipated  the  effect  of  the 
word.  At  the  sound  of  it  Helen  had  sprung  to  her 
feet,  and  standing,  not  upright,  but  crouching  as  if 
for  a  spring,  had  thrown  it  back  at  her. 

"  Ashamed  —  who  are  you  to  know  what  it  is  to 
be  ashamed?  "  And  then  suddenly  she  had  gone  off 
into  a  long  wild  shriek  of  laughter  through  which 
Peggy  caught  the  words  "  humiliation  "  and  "shame" 
cut  into  syllables  by  the  shrill  horrid  gurgles.  , 

She  did  not  realize  then  what  it  meant.  She  had 
been  much  too  frightened;  not  until  that  night  with 
Helen  in  the  bed  beside  her  in  her  own  room  in 
Barchester  Square  did  she  begin  to  see.  She  had 
listened  petrified  to  that  laughter;  it  had  stopped 
suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  She  had  been  afraid  to 
speak,  and  then  suddenly  Helen  had  said  normally. 

u  I  am  sorry,  Peggy;  I'm  behaving  like  a  fool." 

She  had  been  like  a  lamb  after  that  and  had 
agreed  to  everything,  even  to  going  to  France  with 
the  hospital. 

Only  once  had  she  said  anything  strange ;  she  had 
turned  back  at  the  front  door: 

"  I  had  meant  to  wait  here,"  she  had  said,  "  but  I 
knew  I  should  wait  for  nothing.  It  doesn't  matter 


THE  TORTOISE  181 

where  I  am.     Jimmy  told  me  that  I  was  dead." 

It  was  in  the  car  going  to  town  that  Peggy  had 
started  to  give  William's  mesage,  but  Helen  had 
stopped  her. 

"  Jimmy  told  me,  that  and  more,  much  more. 
We  won't  speak  of  William  again  if  you  don't  mind." 

That  night  Lady  Sidlington  wrote  to  Captain 
Gower  at  Aldershot. 

"  I  know  now,  though  I  don't  know  why  I  know, 
that  she  cares  for  William,  but  that  other  man  has 
destroyed  her  self-respect.  If  you  have  any  news 
of  W.  B.  keep  me  posted.  Helen  is,  I  believe,  de- 
termined not  to  try  and  find  him.  If  you  can  get 
leave,  come  to  see  us  before  we  go." 

But  they  did  not  see  Jimmy  again  in  London. 
Orders  came  for  the  unit  to  start  for  France  three 
days  later,  destination  unknown. 


PART  FOUR 


PART  IV 
I 

THE  war  had  reached  its  apotheosis.  Death 
let  loose  upon  Europe  had  not  yet  dimin- 
ished the  fighting  power  of  nations,  organ- 
ized for  each  other's  destruction.  Hunger  was  not 
yet  threatening  the  authority  of  governments  who 
had  pressed  not  only  the  men,  but  the  mountains  and 
plains  and  rivers  of  their  countries,  into  the  service 
of  annihilation. 

Human  beings  were  diminished  to  pin  points  in 
size  and  importance.  Men  had  suffered  their  iden- 
tity to  be  taken  from  them.  Like  animals,  they  had 
taken  on  the  colour  of  the  earth,  so  as  to  be  invisible 
to  the  enemy.  Their  disguise  was  uniform.  Each 
man  looked  like  every  other  man.  No  man  was 
distinguishable  from  any  other. 

The  brain  of  the  world  had  ceased  to  take  ac- 
count of  individuals;  it  dealt  in  units  called  armies, 
moved  men  across  continents  in  loads  of  a  hundred 
thousand  and  sent  them  to  death  in  uncounted  con- 
glomerate masses.  Cities,  like  buckets  tipped  up 
to  pour  out  their  contents,  were  emptied  of  men, 
keeping  a  residuum  of  women  and  children  and  the 
aged. 

The  face  of  the  earth  was  changed.  Populations 
had  shifted  and  were  incessantly  shifting.  The 
pleasant  places  and  the  busy  places  of  a  former  era 

185 


1 86  THE  TORTOISE 

were  vacant  Hordes  of  men  lived  on  the  barren 
surface  of  deserts,  inhabiting  tents,  or  holes  in  the 
ground,  or  heaps  of  broken  stone.  In  some  places 
cities  had  been  destroyed  and  to  balance  these,  other 
cities  of  wood  and  of  tin  had  been  manufactured  in 
haste.  These  new  cities  were  perched  on  the  earth 
without  foundations,  and  were  transported  in  pieces 
from  one  point  to  another. 

A  scar  showed  across  the  face  of  Europe.  It 
stretched  from  the  coast  of  Belgium  to  the  Adriatic 
Sea,  and  on  the  edges  of  this  scar  myriads  of  men 
clung  like  insects.  Viewed  from  a  high  point  in  the 
sky,  the  men  looked  like  beetles;  struggling  through 
debris,  burroughing  underground ;  crawling  over  the 
obstructing  edge  of  the  ditch  and  dropping  dead  in 
it.  Stretching  away  to  either  side,  the  earth  ap- 
peared, pitted  like  small-pox,  and  along  the  length  of 
this  area  ran  little  curling  puffs  of  smoke  and  flashes 
of  fire.  In  some  places  the  smoke  smothered  the 
whole  and  the  myriad  little  clump  of  men  were  to  be 
seen  crawling  into  it  in  thick  swarms.  These  were 
the  places  where  battles  were  raging. 

The  long  thin  ditch  appeared,  to  the  observer  in 
the  sky,  an  unpassable  barrier.  It  was  scarely  dis- 
tinguishable, yet  to  cross  it  the  easiest  and  the  only 
way  seemed  to  be  to  go  round  the  globe  of  the  earth 
and  come  up  on  the  other  side. 

During  the  summer  of  1916  the  place  on  the  map 
of  the  greatest  smoke  and  the  greatest  noise  and  the 
greatest  swarm  of  men,  were  the  fields  of  Picardy  in 
France.  It  was  said  in  the  world  of  men,  where  Pol- 


THE  TORTOISE  187 

iticians  and  newspaper  Editors  still  occupied  sever- 
ally the  usual  individual's  number  of  cubic  feet  of 
space,  that  very  large  effectives  were  engaged  in  the 
battle  of  the  Somme  but  scarce  any  one  had  an  exact 
conception  of  what  the  term  meant.  God  in  his 
silent  heaven,  beyond  the  sound  of  war,  saw  masses  of 
infinitesimally  tiny  corpses  strewn  like  dead  flies 
across  a  pock-marked  desert :  the  politician  in  London 
saw  rows  and  rows  of  figures  on  sheets  and  sheets  of 
paper.  The  soldier,  who  had  struggled  like  a  bur- 
dened insect  crossing  a  quaking  earth,  saw  what  an 
insect  can  see,  a  heap  of  rubbish,  stones,  bricks,  lumps 
of  mud,  fragments  of  bodies  like  his  own,  a  cloud  of 
smoke  behind  him,  a  wall  of  earth  in  front  of  him, 
and  overhead  fragments  of  glittering  sky. 

He,  the  soldier,  the  infinitesimal  human  being  who 
through  the  turmoil  went  on  with  his  minute  busi- 
ness, he  had  become  accustomed  to  war.  His  mind, 
a  tiny  spark,  lighted  in  the  recesses  of  his  tiny  brain, 
enclosed  in  the  frail  walls  of  his  skull  that  one  frag- 
ment of  flying  iron  could  dash  to  fragments,  his 
mind  that  burned  steadily  a  pure  inextinguishable 
flame,  had  generated  an  idea.  He  believed  in  him- 
self. His  idea  was  that  he  could  and  must  alone, 
stand  up  against  the  raving  terror  of  the  elements  of 
universal  destruction.  He  opposed  his  small  in- 
domitable self  to  the  monstrous  war.  He  met  it,  he 
recognized  it,  he  lived  with  it. 

Accepting  the  war,  the  mentality  of  the  human 
race  was  undergoing  a  change,  yet  no  one  noticed  the 
change.  The  governments  of  Europe  did  not  real- 


1 88  THE  TORTOISE 

ise  that  men  were  different.  Human  beings  ap- 
peared diminished  in  size,  while  every  hour  they 
were  growing  bigger.  They  were  growing  into 
giants,  but  the  scene  of  the  war  was  so  great  that 
they  continued  to  appear  as  specks  in  it.  They  them- 
selves did  not  realize  the  change.  They  realised 
nothing  but  the  war.  None  of  them  expected  to  see 
the  end  of  it.  They  lived  in  it  as  if  it  were  going  to 
last  forever.  The  killing  would  go  on  until  there 
was  no  one  left  to  kill.  The  end  of  the  war  might 
come  and  with  it,  the  end  of  the  world,  but  this  did 
not  concern  them;  they  would  not  be  there  to  see  it. 

Life  was  distributed  to  them  daily  with  their  ra- 
tions. They  accepted  it,  day  by  day  in  packets.  So 
much  discomfort,  cold,  wet,  dust,  thirst,  soreness, 
sickness,  fear,  excitement,  blood,  hunger,  pain;  these 
things  were  doled  out  to  them.  They  took  the  day's 
supply  and  to  offset  the  monotony  of  it,  stole  what 
they  could  find  to  steal.  They  helped  themselves  to 
what  came  in  their  way.  In  the  name  of  the  death 
that  awaited  them  tomorrow,  they  celebrated  the 
mug  of  beer  today.  The  red  cheeks  of  a  village  girl, 
a  game  of  cards  in  a  dug-out,  an  extra  pipe  of  tobac- 
co, these  were  their  compensations  for  sure  annihila- 
tion. They  had  established  a  new  equilibrium. 

Living  in  the  war  was  not  living  in  the  world. 
The  new  existence  had  nothing  in  common  with  life. 
It  did  not  even  resemble  the  struggle  of  prehistoric 
man  against  savage  nature,  for  nature  had  disap- 
peared with  civilisation  and  man  was  left,  to  face  the 
powers  of  darkness  across  the  cracked  and  blighted 


THE  TORTOISE  189 

surface  of  a  ruined  earth.  It  was  as  if  the  earth  had 
rushed  ahead  through  aeons  of  time,  and  as  if  the 
life  of  the  earth  had  died.  The  warmth  of  it  had 
grown  cold,  the  germinating  power  of  its  soil  was 
exhausted.  Its  forests  and  fields  had  withered  away. 
Only  the  old  worn  shell  of  it  remained,  bleak,  barren, 
covered  with  the  refuse  of  uncounted  discarded 
ages.  The  gods  had  abandoned  it  and  forgetting 
the  man  that  still  lived  by  some  freak  of  gigantic  cir- 
cumstance on  its  crust,  had  turned  their  attention  to 
other,  living  planets. 

Humanity,  abandoned,  seemed  to  have  under- 
taken the  business  of  its  own  extermination.  In 
despair  at  being  forgotten,  it  had  determined  on 
death  and  in  order  to  achieve  its  own  extinction,  it 
had  improvised  a  temporary  existence  in  the  incom- 
prehensible landscape  of  the  earth  it  held  in  horror. 

A  fury  of  activity  animated  the  oozing  desert, 
where  once  in  former  ages  had  been  the  fertile  fields 
of  Picardy.  Men  poured  across  the  dead  face  of 
the  earth,  in  an  angry  flood,  bringing  with  them  in- 
fernal engines  that  created  a  great  noise.  The 
muddy  plain  was  strewn  with  iron.  The  roads  were 
snakes  of  iron  on  whose  length  grinding  engines, 
with  heavy  wheels  fitted  one  behind  another  like 
scales. 

Waves  of  dull  incessant  sound  beat  against  the 
sides  of  the  cold  hills.  Other  noises  broke  at  in- 
tervals out  of  the  resounding  sky,  screams,  whistling 
shrieks,  and  the  sound  of  avalanches  crashing  down 
into  the  echoing  caverns.  There  was  a  feeling  of 


190  THE  TORTOISE 

concussion  in  the  air  as  if  the  whole  plateau  with  its 
hordes  of  men  were  being  rushed  through  space  at 
an  incredible  speed.  The  land  looked  as  if  it  were 
swept  by  a  devastating  wind  that  had  churned  up  the 
earth  like  water. 

A  battle  was  preparing.  Another  chapter  in  the 
history  of  the  effort  of  the  human  race  to  die  was 
about  to  be  written  on  the  stained  page  of  time. 

Some  fifteen  miles  behind  the  scene  of  battle  near 
a  sheltered  bend  in  the  river  under  a  protecting  rise 
of  ground,  a  part  of  the  village  remained  clinging 
to  the  soil.  Its  ruins  appeared  incredibly  old. 
Half  the  church  tower  was  there  above  a  heap  of 
stones,  a  crazy  remainder  of  a  forgotten  era.  A 
dozen  hovels  crouched  in  the  mud,  windowless,  but 
capped  still  by  torn  roofs.  For  the  rest,  stones, 
and  bits  of  masonry  stuck  up  like  teeth  out  of  the 
ground. 

Men  inhabited  the  ruins,  men  came  and  went 
through  the  single  muddy  alley  that  still  resembled 
a  street.  An  unconquerable  instinct  of  recognition 
had  urged  them  to  inhabit  this  place.  Determined 
upon  death,  they  still  clung  to  the  semblance  of 
dwellings  that  reminded  them  of  other  places  that 
had  once  given  them  comfort  and  shelter. 

The  plan  of  the  battle  that  was  preparing  was 
housed  in  the  interior  of  one  of  these  hovels.  A 
general  had  established  his  headquarters  there.  He 
sat  on  a  canvas  stool  before  a  wooden  table  with  a 
map  spread  before  him  and  around  the  table  stood 
his  officers.  The  general  was  talking.  He  pointed 


THE  TORTOISE  191 

out  the  places  on  the  map  with  the  one  finger  re- 
maining on  his  mutilated  hand. 

Beyond  the  gaping  window  troops  were  passing. 
Their  heads  on  a  level  with  the  broken  window  still 
moved  endlessly  by.  Three  bobbing  helmets  were 
perpetually  framed  in  the  aperture.  The  men  pass- 
ing by  in  the  mud  of  the  road,  paid  no  attention  to 
the  officers  in  the  room.  They  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left.  They  ignored  the  general  and 
the  pointing  finger  that  was  indicating  the  place  on 
the  map  where  they  were  going  to  die.  Out  of  the 
distant  past  that  they  remembered,  through  the  con- 
fused and  menacing  eternity  that  surrounded  the 
village,  they  came  into  the  grotesque  mockery  of  its 
shelter  and  they  passed  through  it  and  moved  on  out 
of  it,  to  the  battle  that  was  preparing. 

They  marched,  bending  forward  under  the  heavy 
knapsacks  that  they  carried;  each  one  close  to  the 
next  one  and  all  moving  together.  The  color  of 
their  sodden  clothes  that  once  had  been  blue,  was  the 
color  of  the  earth,  their  heavy  mass  sank  into  the 
stuff  of  the  road,  their  boots  were  inextricably 
mixed  up  in  the  clinging  mud;  they  covered  the  long 
road  and  were  a  part  of  it,  forming  on  it  an  extra 
layer  that  was  fused  into  the  deep  mud  of  its  bot- 
tom, so  that  the  whole  road  moved  with  them,  and 
their  glinting  helmets  were  like  a  stream  of  pebbles 
carried  along  by  its  current. 

A  woman  was  walking  in  the  road  a  mile  beyond 
the  village.  She  wore  a  white  kerchief  on  her  head, 
and  a  dark  cloak  round  her  shoulders.  The  mir- 


192  THE  TORTOISE 

acle  of  her  presence  was  not  noticeable,  because  she 
too  had  lost  her  identity  and  resembled  the  land- 
scape. The  soldiers  made  room  for  her  on  the  edge 
of  the  road.  She  walked  steadily  as  they  walked, 
her  head  bent,  planting  her  heavy  boots  slowly  one, 
then,  another,  in  the  oozing  mud.  The  fact  of  her 
being  there,  seemed  neither  strange  nor  wonderful, 
because  her  attitude  denied  that  it  was  so.  H'er 
dreary  hooded  figure  claimed  its  right  to  be  there. 
It  was  bespattered  with  mud,  and  patient  and  un- 
concerned. She  made  no  gesture,  she  did  not  turn 
her  head.  She  walked  through  the  mud  as  if  she 
belonged  there. 

Nevertheless  the  army  took  cognisance  of  her 
presence.  Out  of  its  disciplined  dumb  mass,  an  ob- 
scure feeling  of  sympathy  went  out  to  her.  The 
rows  of  men,  passing  her,  one  after  another,  would 
have  welcomed  her  as  one  of  them,  if  they  could 
have.  If  their  arms  had  been  capable  of  making  a 
gesture,  they  would  have  waved  to  her,  but  their 
arms  were  too  heavy.  If  they  could  have  spoken, 
they  would  have  called  out  to  her  a  greeting,  but  they 
could  not.  They  had  no  voice  with  which  to  speak 
to  her.  The  noise  of  cannon,  and  the  wind,  and  the 
splashing  suffocating  mud,  had  done  away  with  their 
voices.  They  had  no  faculty  left,  save  the  faculty 
of  existing  and  moving  on.  All  there  was  in  them  of 
the  energy  of  life  they  needed  to  push  one  leg  in 
front  of  the  other.  They  had  come  a  long  way,  such 
a  long  way  that  they  had  forgotten  its  beginning. 
They  did  not  know  where  they  had  come  from  or 


THE  TORTOISE  193 

where  they  were  going,  they  only  knew  that  they 
could  not  stop.  So  they  passed  by  the  woman  on 
the  edge  of  the  road,  weary  condemned  beings  that 
did  not  look  quite  like  men,  and  out  of  their  dogged 
determined  despair  they  gave  her  what  they  could, 
the  only  thing  they  had  to  give,  the  recognition  of 
comrades. 

The  road  climbed  to  a  hard  sky-line.  The  pano- 
rama of  the  liquid  desert  widened  out.  Over  all  its 
slippery  surface,  were  strewn  men  and  animals  and 
carts  and  guns,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  appeared 
a  city  of  wooden  sheds  with  low  peaked  roofs.  Two 
posts,  standing  stark  by  the  roadside,  indicated  an 
entrance  to  the  unboundaried  settlement.  On  a 
painted  board  between  them  was  written  in  black 
letters  H.  O.  E.  29.  A  sentry  in  an  oblong  box  that 
stood  on  end  by  the  gate  post  saluted  the  woman  who 
turned  in  under  the  sign.  She  did  not  look  back  as 
she  crossed  the  open  windy  space  before  the  wooden 
sheds.  Her  figure  was  a  minute  thing  in  that  wide 
place.  The  white  handkerchief  on  her  head  was 
like  a  solitary  snowflake  fluttering  across  the  mud  in 
the  wind. 


II 


THE  French  Evacuation  Hospital  No.  29 
covered  a  square  mile  of  the  plain.  It  had 
a  population  of  five  thousand  souls.  An 
engineer  had  built  it  in  an  ugly  symmetry.  Its 
long  rows  of  unpainted  sheds  formed  a  system  of 
straight  alleys  leading  out  from  a  central  square 
where  ambulances  unloaded  the  wounded.  An  im- 
provised railway  line  ran  between  the  rows  of  huts 
to  the  square.  The  place  was  naked  and  unshelt- 
ered. There  was  no  tree  or  shrub  anywhere.  A 
thousand  unshuttered  windows  glittered  at  each 
other  across  the  bare  ground,  where  scattered 
stretcher-bearers  carrying  their  swinging  burdens 
struggled  against  the  wind.  Except  for  the 
stretcher-bearers  and  the  knot  of  men  unloading  the 
ambulances  scarce  anyone  was  to  be  seen.  A  doc- 
tor, blackbearded  and  bareheaded  in  a  white  coat 
bespattered  with  red  blood,  came  out  through  a 
swinging  door  and  went  in  through  another.  From 
somewhere  behind  the  staring  windows,  a  scream 
travelled  out  into  the  wind  and  was  lost.  All  about, 
as  if  forming  with  their  noise  a  throbbing  band  that 
encompassed  the  earth,  the  guns  were  pounding. 

An  officer  in  khaki  with  a  red  fez  on  his  head  and 
a  cane  in  his  hand  stepped  aside  from  the  group  of 

194 


THE  TORTOISE  195 

ambulances  to  greet  the  woman  coming  towards  him. 
He  limped,  his  bow  was  ceremonious. 

"  Bonjour,   Madame." 

"  Bonjour,  Monsieur  le  Medecin  chef." 

"  You  have  been  walking?  " 

"  I  went  to  the  cemetery." 

"  On  such  a  day  — " 

"  I  took  a  wreath  sent  me  by  the  wife  of  a  man 
who  died  here.  You  do  not  object,  Monsieur  le 
Medecin  chef?" 

"  Madame  is  free  to  do  as  she  chooses,  but  it  is 
not  prudent.  The  crossroads  is  an  unpleasant 
place." 

"  There  was  not  much  shelling." 

"  You  are  brave,  Madame." 

"  You  are  indulgent,  Monsieur." 

Two  orderlies  passed  carrying  a  corpse  on  a 
stretcher.  The  wind  whipped  at  the  edge  of  the 
coarse  sheet  that  covered  the  stiff  body. 

"  Hi  —  What  —  Stop  —  Name  of  God,  where 
are  you  going?  "  burst  out  the  officer  in  a  loud  voice. 
The  old  orderlies  stopped  and  looked  around  dully 
over  their  burden.  "  Don't  you  know  yet  that  this 
is  not  the  way  to  the  morgue?  Go  round  to  the 
back  I  tell  you.  Go,  get  along  with  you !  Are  you 
deaf,  imbeciles !  Name  of  God,  what  specimens ! 
Pardon,  Madame;  this  rabble  they  give  me  for  or- 
derlies." 

"  They  are  old  men,  Monsieur." 
'  They  are  idiots,  Madame,  idiots.     Those  that 
can  hear  can't  see.     Those  that  can  see  can't  hear. 


196  THE  TORTOISE 

They  send  me  all  the  broken  down  grandfathers  and 
expect  me  to  run  a  hospital  with  them.  I  swear,  I 
shout,  at  night  I  am  hoarse  with  shouting,  I  shock 
you.  It  is  my  business  to  shout,  I  beg  pardon. 
Bonjour,  Madame."  He  repeated  his  ceremonious 
bow. 

"  Bonjour,  Monsieur."  She  turned  away,  but  he 
stopped  her. 

"  Madame  Chudd.     One  moment!  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  tell  your  companions  that  the 
order  has  come  to  prepare  for  a  heavy  intake  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  will  do  so,  Monsieur  le  Medecin  chef." 

"  A  train  will  leave  at  seven  in  the  morning.  At 
what  time  did  you  go  to  bed  this  morning,  Madame? 
At  four  o'clock?  I  thought  so.  You  will  kill  your- 
self, and  that  will  help  no  one.  I  have  given  orders 
that  all  evacuable  patients  are  to  be  evacuated,  but 
all,  you  understand,  without  sentiment,  strict  selec- 
tion, only  the  moribunds  to  be  kept." 

"  I  understand." 

"  We  have  beds  for  four  thousand.  There  are 
at  this  moment  two  thousand  five  hundred  patients  in 
the  hospital.  Two  thousand  at  a  minimum  must  be 
evacuated.  We  must  make  room.  The  surgeons 
will  cry  out  and  call  me  names.  They  will  make  a 
fuss  over  this  pet  case  and  that  pet  case.  Their 
beautiful  operations,  their  knees,  and  their  thighs 
and  their  heads,  that  they  want  to  keep  under  ob- 
servation !  It  is  always  the  same  story.  They  will 


THE  TORTOISE  197 

not  understand.  This  is  not  a  place  for  delicate 
surgery." 

"  It  is  a  place  for  saving  life." 

"  You  ladies  have  too  much  heart." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  think  so,  Monsieur." 

"  This  is  no  place  for  heart,  Madame." 

"  I  dare  to  think  the  contrary,  Monsieur." 

"  Je  vous  presents  mes  hommages,  Madame." 

"  Bonjour,  Monsieur." 

She  left  him  and  made  her  way  to  the  nurses  hut. 
"  He  is  perfectly  right,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  This 
is  no  place  for  heart." 

Long  ago,  when  she  had  first  come,  she  had  an 
inspiring  vision  of  the  place.  Its  enormous  activity 
and  the  sinister  excitement  that  prevailed  there,  had 
been  a  stimulus.  She  had  left  Peggy  Sidlington 
after  a  year  of  sporadic  amateur  work  in  the  North, 
at  the  invitation  of  the  French  Inspector  General, 
and  had  enrolled  herself  as  a  military  nurse.  Feel- 
ing herself  a  definite  part  of  the  great  machine,  she 
had  experienced  a  sense  of  relief.  It  had  seemed 
to  her  wonderful  to  take  a  serious  part  in  the  colossal 
contest  between  the  business  of  killing  and  the  busi- 
ness of  saving  life.  The  human  flood  that  poured  up 
the  roads  past  them,  flowed  back  to  them  a  stream  of 
poisoned  wreckage.  The  hospital  dealt  with  the 
wreckage.  She  had  seen  herself  for  a  time  as  one 
of  a  band  of  life  savers,  wading  through  a  perpetual 
storm  to  the  rescue  of  pitiful  survivors. 

She  had  lost  her  vision  of  the  place.  She  worked 
in  it  now  blindly  unthinking  and  almost  unfeeling. 


198  THE  TORTOISE 

Pity  had  given  way  under  the  overwhelming  fact  of 
horror,  to  apathy.  The  sight  and  sound  of  suffer- 
ing, no  longer  conveyed  to  her  any  sensation.  She 
reacted  to  it,  like  an  accurate  machine  made  to  deal 
with  it.  Her  gesture  responded  to  its  appeal  com- 
petently; her  brain  registered  its  needs,  but  her  mind 
failed  to  understand  its  meaning.  It  had  been  a 
question  of  becoming  a  machine  or  going  mad.  She 
realized  this  and  did  not  condemn  but  merely  dis- 
liked herself. 

Her  duty  was  to  receive  the  wounded  in  the  great 
central  shed  of  the  hospital  as  they  came  from  the 
trenches.  They  were  brought  to  her  on  stretchers 
and  laid  on  the  floor.  Each  man  had  a  ticket  tied  to 
his  coat  on  which  was  written  the  nature  of  his 
wounds.  It  was  her  business  to  examine  each  one 
and  pick  out  the  most  urgent  cases,  and  rush  them 
through  to  the  surgeons.  It  was  her  duty  to  know 
who  in  that  mass  of  torn  humanity  was  nearest  the 
point  of  death.  She  had  learned  to  read  the  signs 
on  their  faces  and  limbs.  The  green  pallor  of  a 
face,  the  sweat  on  a  forehead,  a  pinched  nose,  a 
jerky  movement  of  the  legs,  a  thick  rattle  in  the 
throat,  a  peculiar  odor,  these  things  spoke  to  her. 
She  understood  the  language.  Wrapped  in  their 
great  coats,  covered  with  mud,  stained  with  rusty 
blood,  soiled  bandages  showing,  crowded  one  against 
another  like  battered  parcels,  she  would  sort  them 
out,  see  at  a  glance  that  the  one  had  all  but  bled  to1 
death,  that  death  already  had  claimed  another,  that 
yet  another,  though  suffering  agonies,  could  wait. 


THE  TORTOISE  199 

They  passed  before  her,  an  endless,  helpless  pro- 
cession of  recumbent  bodies.  They  were  carried  in 
and  laid  at  her  feet.  Under  her  direction  their 
clothes  were  cut  from  them,  their  bodies  washed, 
their  wounds  dressed.  She  gave  them  stimulants, 
drinks,  warmed  their  feet,  bandaged  their  wounds 
and  sent  them  on  to  the  surgeons.  Some  of  them 
died  in  her  presence  and  were  carried  away  to  the 
morgue,  all  passed  on  to  make  room  for  others. 
She  had  no  time  to  know  them.  It  was  impossible 
to  remember  them.  She  never  learned  their  names. 
Sometimes  after  a  burst  of  work  she  would  ask  the 
operating  room  nurses,  what  had  become  of  one  or 
another,  identifying  them  by  their  wounds,  but  it  was 
difficult  to  trace  them  as  far  as  a  ward.  If  she 
went  for  a  moment  to  one  of  the  wards,  she  recog- 
nized no  one.  The  men  were  transformed.  The 
clean,  white  bandaged  figures  in  the  rows  of  beds, 
were  a  different  race  from  the  bearded,  mud-en- 
crusted bundles  that  were  laid  on  the  floor  of  her 
shed. 

But  she  realized  them  in  the  mass  and  in  her  own 
way,  absolutely  and  ultimately,  as  if  she  with  them 
had  been  put  down  into  Hell  forever;  they  belonged 
to  her  and  she  to  them.  Under  a  curse,  she  loved 
them.  Their  hideousness  had  become  to  her  gran- 
deur. She  recognized  the  nobility  of  their  distorted 
mangled  limbs.  Their  stoicism,  their  supreme  cour- 
age kept  forever  alive  her  deep  despairing  admira- 
tion, and  their  tenacious  hold  on  life  filled  her  with 
awe.  On  her  knees  amongst  them,  cutting,  strip- 


200  THE  TORTOISE 

ping,  binding,  washing,  she  fought  with  them  for 
the  life  they  wanted.  Grimly,  and  bitterly,  she 
helped  them  to  live,  knowing  how  much  easier  it 
would  be  for  them  to  die. 

They  seldom  spoke  to  her.  They  never  com- 
plained and  she  herself  spoke  little.  Their  common 
struggle  was  carried  on  fiercely  in  silence  broken  only 
by  grunts,  or  stifled  groans  and  quick  exclamations. 
They  obeyed  the  language  of  her  hands,  and  re- 
sponded to  the  pressure  of  her  fingers.  They  al- 
lowed themselves  to  be  handled  by  her  and  she 
handled  them  competently,  for  their  salvation. 
They  knew  this,  and  she  knew  that  they  knew  it. 
Through  the  thick  envelope  of  their  horrible  dis- 
guise, their  idea  reached  her  and  her  understanding 
travelled  back  to  them  through  the  living  touch  of 
her  hands.  Defying  the  purpose  of  the  war,  they 
willed  to  live.  She  willed  to  keep  them  alive. 
Communion  was  established  between  them. 

Her  personal  consciousness  was  at  its  lowest  pos- 
sible ebb.  She  remembered  almost  nothing  and 
looked  forward  to  nothing.  Only  one  idea  of  her 
own  remained  to  her,  and  that  remained  with  her 
always.  She  had  had  no  news  of  her  husband. 
She  expected  daily  to  hear  of  his  death.  The  idea 
in  its  form  of  an  eternal  question  stared  at  her  anew 
each  day.  It  kept  her  awake  for  a  time  each  night, 
no  matter  how  great  her  physical  exhaustion.  "  Is 
he  still  alive?  Is  he  wounded?  Is  he  at  this  in- 
stant being  killed?  "  These  questions  she  asked  her- 


THE  TORTOISE  201 

self,  while  she  lay  awake,  in  her  cubicle  in  the  nurses 
hut. 

Some  companionship  she  found  in  the  Hospital 
community.  Her  orderlies  were  her  friends. 
They  were  old  men,  most  of  them  had  been  farmers. 
They  were  grizzled,  weather  beaten  and  dirty,  they 
were  deaf  and  rheumatic  and  lazy;  they  were  stupid 
and  patient  and  careful.  Their  heavy  gnarled 
hands  accustomed  to  guiding  a  plow  and  hoeing  the 
soil,  were  tender  with  the  wounded  men.  Their 
rough  voices  were  kind.  Some  of  them  had  grand- 
children. They  took  hold  of  mangled  men  as  if 
they  were  babies.  Their  untidiness  exasperated 
her,  their  stupidity  maddened  her,  their  simple  good- 
ness was  a  repose  to  her  soul.  Ruling  them  and 
scolding  them  and  teaching  them,  she  depended  on 
them  and  their  presence  was  a  comfort  to  her. 
Sometimes  they  made  her  laugh. 

Of  the  doctors  she  saw  very  little.  She  was  sur- 
prised at  the  interest  some  of  the  nurses  took  in  the 
doctors.  She  liked  the  nurses  without  getting  to 
know  them.  They  were  a  cheerful  chattering  lot 
of  French  women,  whom  she  saw  at  meals.  The 
only  one  with  whom  she  had  ever  talked,  was  the 
Infirmiere  Major,  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont.  She 
had  never  seen  any  one  the  least  bit  like  Mademoi- 
selle de  Vaumont.  She  was  not  sure,  given  time 
and  leisure  to  do  so,  whether  she  would  end  by  lov- 
ing her  or  by  finding  her  merely  a  bore.  The  large 
woman  with  her  aristocratic  crooked  face  under  its 


202  THE  TORTOISE 

false  front  of  auburn  hair,  her  large  emotional  un- 
gainly bosom,  her  shrill  laughter,  her  huge  untiring 
feet,  her  fanatic  religious  devotion,  made  up  a  baf- 
fling creature.  She  openly  despised  the  doctors  as 
beneath  her  in  social  position  as  indeed  they  were. 
She  reverenced  the  many  priests  who  acted  as  order- 
lies. She  lavished  unquenchable  and  untiring  mater- 
nal affection  upon  her  patients.  The  nurses  adored 
her.  Helen  certainly  did  not  adore  her,  but  the 
thought  came  to  her  sometimes,  that  if  she  were  in 
trouble  the  French  woman  might  help  her.  She  felt 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  respected  her,  be- 
cause she  worked  hard  and  didn't  make  a  fuss,  went 
out  to  the  kitchen  hut  for  her  own  hot  water  to  wash 
in  and  cleaned  her  own  shoes  and  tried  to  eat  the 
meat  and  beans  that  were  put  before  her.  Some- 
times at  night,  when  work  was  slack,  they  would 
wash  and  iron  their  kerchiefs  together  in  the  mess- 
room  after  the  others  had  gone  to  bed.  They  would 
talk  then,  as  they  heated  the  irons  on  the  small  glow- 
ing stove,  about  religion  and  the  war  and  the  char- 
acter of  the  French  people.  Never  did  they  men- 
tion their  own  personal  affairs.  They  knew  nothing 
about  each  other.  Helen  was  grateful  to  the 
woman  under  whose  authority  she  worked  for  re- 
specting her  incognito. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  wonder  whether  any 
of  the  people  around  her  thought  it  strange  that 
she  should  be  alone,  the  only  English  person  among 
them.  She  was  not  conscious  of  herself  as  an  object 
of  interest  or  curiosity.  When  the  nurses  told  her 


THE  TORTOISE  203 

that  she  looked  ill,  she  smiled  and  said  that  she  was 
perfectly  well.  It  seemed  to  her  superfluously  kind 
of  them.  She  was  tired.  They  were  all  tired. 
Her  feet  were  swollen,  so  were  their  feet.  Most 
of  the  time,  her  back  ached.  She  had  chilblains. 
They  all  had  chilblains.  These  things  did  not 
trouble  her.  The  only  thing  that  bothered  her  was 
an  almost  constant  sensation  of  nausea,  it  was  as  if 
her  feeling  of  excited  nervous  apprehension  had 
taken  hold  of  her  stomach.  She  forgot  about  this, 
while  at  work.  It  was  only  when  off  duty  that  she 
was  obliged  to  notice  it,  and  she  was  off  duty  as  little 
as  possible.  She  found  that  she  could  do  an  eighteen 
hour  day  regularly.  During  battles,  she  stayed  on 
for  thirty-six  hours  at  a  stretch,  with  time  off  for 
meals  and  a  foot  bath.  Her  work  in  the  receiving 
hut  was  irregular.  She  began  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  that  the  wounded  arrived  and  stayed  on  as  a  rule 
until  midnight  or  one  in  the  morning.  There  was 
no  other  nurse  to  relieve  her.  When  she  went  to 
bed,  she  left  word  with  her  sergeant  to  call  her  when- 
ever the  work  demanded  it.  He  was  so  often 
obliged  to  do  so,  that  of  late  she  had  taken  to  sleep- 
ing in  her  clothes.  She  would  take  a  bath  in  her 
canvas  tub  and  dress  again  before  going  to  bed. 
Dressing  was  not  a  complicated  business.  She  wore 
woollen  underwear  and  breeches  under  her  uniform. 
Her  hair,  done  in  a  long  plait,  was  wound  in  a  knot 
under  her  veil.  She  made  no  attempt  to  take  care 
of  her  hands.  They  were  the  hands  of  a  working 
woman.  One  finger  was  misshapen.  It  had  been 


204  THE  TORTOISE 

badly  infected.     She  had  neglected  it,  and  it  had  had 
to  be  cut. 

Once,  she  had  fainted  outside  the  hut.  They 
had  thought  it  fatigue.  The  medecin  chef  had 
wanted  to  send  her  away  for  a  rest,  but  she  had  re- 
fused to  go  and  had  let  them  think  what  they  would. 
To  whom  could  she  explain  that  the  sight  of  a  very 
large  soldier  in  English  uniform  by  the  gate  had 
made  her  run  forward  and  stumble,  and  fall,  when 
he  turned  a  strange  red  face  to  her?  To  whom 
could  she  confide  anything? 

Sometimes,  when  British  troops  passed  by,  her 
heart  would  suffocate  her  with  its  thumping  and  she 
would  hold  tight  to  the  nearest  solid  object,  to  pre- 
vent herself  from  running  out  like  a  lunatic  to  watch 
them.  "  What  good  would  it  do,  you  idiot?  "  she 
would  say  to  herself.  "  If  you  stood  all  day  every 
day  on  a  cross  road  watching  them  go  past,  you 
would  never  see  him.  He  may  not  even  be  in 
France.  He  may  be  in  the  Dardanelles;  "  but  in 
spite  of  herself,  she  felt  each  time  that  perhaps  that 
time  he  had  actually  been  among  the  bent  mud- 
coloured  forms  under  the  round  tin  hats,  that  were 
marching  by  in  the  road. 

That  night  at  nine  o'clock  to  the  minute  the  can- 
nonade tripled  its  force.  It  was  as  if  the  earth 
during  its  spinning  course  through  the  heavens  had 
leaped  suddenly  aside  into  a  storm.  The  wounded 
men  on  the  stretchers  who  were  being  carried  to  the 
train  turned  their  heads  to  listen  and  the  old  order- 
lies with  their  shaded  lanterns  flickering  in  the  wind 


THE  TORTOISE  205 

stopped  to  listen,  and  the  Doctors  playing  cards 
round  the  lighted  lamps  of  their  mess  rooms  and 
the  nurses  in  the  wards  busy  with  the  patients  who 
were  being  evacuated,  all  stopped  what  they  were 
doing,  to  listen.  Only  the  dying  men  left  alone 
in  their  beds  did  not  listen.  They  were  dying,  noth- 
ing could  interrupt  them,  nothing  could  stop  them 
dying.  The  roaring  throb  of  the  dark  made  to  them 
no  difference.  No  thundering  message  of  death  had 
for  them  any  meaning.  For  them  the  last  word  was 
spoken.  They  lay  still  in  their  beds,  in  the  shaking 
huts  behind  their  rattling  windows. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  coming  into  the  nurses' 
hut  at  midnight  found  Mrs.  Chudd  sitting  in  the 
mess  room,  her  cloak  wrapped  round  her,  her  lighted 
lantern  on  the  floor  beside  her.  The  fire  in  the  stove 
had  gone  out.  Blasts  of  wind  and  a  throbbing  noise 
invaded  the  cold  room. 

"  You  are  not  in  bed?  " 

"  No,  I  have  just  come  in.     And  you?  " 

"  I  had  to  make  up  beds  for  tomorrow.  All  my 
men  have  gone  but  two." 

The  French  woman  sat  down. 

"  Shall  we  make  some  chocolate?  " 

"  The  fire  has  gone  out." 

Neither  moved.  They  sat  huddled  in  their  can- 
vas chairs,  staring  at  the  dead  stove  and  listening. 
The  bare  room  with  its  rough  inadequate  walls  was 
in  shadow.  Their  lanterns  shed  a  dim  light  by 
which  they  could  see  each  other,  but  it  was  not  each 
other  that  they  saw. 


2o6  THE  TORTOISE 

"  The  attack  is  timed  for  six  o'clock,"  said  Made- 
moiselle de  Vaumont. 

"  So  I  believe." 

Their  silence  was  swallowed  up  in  the  noise  that 
surrounded  them  like  a  swirling  flood. 

Helen  was  watching  her  husband.  She  saw  him 
from  an  infinite  distance  but  with  perfect  precision. 
She  saw  him  out  in  the  dark  on  a  field  of  mud,  with 
an  indistinguishable  mass  of  men.  He  was  one  of 
them*  He  was  one  of  a  countless  number  destined  to 
be  killed  in  the  morning. 

The  throbbing  of  the  cannon  was  like  the  pound- 
ing of  a  clock  beating  out  the  running  seconds  of 
the  life  of  the  earth  that  was  rushing  to  an  end. 


Ill 


THE  world  was  cracking  to  pieces  beyond 
there  in  the  dark.     The  man  heard  it.     He 
knew  that  it  couldn't  last  more  than  a  mo- 
ment longer,  but  he  didn't  care.     It  would  fly  into 
fragments.     He  felt  it  straining.     One  blow  right 
in  the  middle  would  do  it,  like  that,  no,  that  was 
to  the  side. —  Where  was  He? 

Voices  spoke  round  him.  He  heard  them,  small, 
complete  soft  things,  clearly  audible  in  that  cracking 
thunder. 

"Attention!  " 

"Quietly—" 

"  For  the  love  of  God  be  careful." 

"Life—     Push—     Higher—" 

"  Name  of  God  — " 

"  There  now.     Another  one." 

Dark  forms  move  round  him.  A  coat  brushed 
against  his  face.  He  would  have  remonstrated  it 
if  he  could,  but  somehow  he  couldn't.  He  knew 
that  he  was  helpless,  but  did  not  know  why.  He 
had  no  curiosity.  Men  were  pushing  and  stumbling 
round  him  in  the  dark.  He  could  not  move.  He 
knew  without  trying  that  he  could  not. 

Another  voice  said :  '  Take  the  officers.  That 
makes  four.  Drive  direct  to  the  Evacuation  Hos- 
pital. Bad  cases.  Hurry!  " 

207 


2o8  THE  TORTOISE 

He  opened  his  eyes.  A  glare  of  light  showed  a 
grizzled  bearded  face  bending  over  him.  The  light 
went  out.  He  felt  himself  lifted,  swaying.  He 
thought:  "  I  am  lying  on  a  swinging  rope.  I  shall 
fall  off,  I  shall  drop."  He  felt  sick  at  his  stomach. 
If  only  he  could  vomit,  but  he  was  flat  on  his  back. 
Impossible  to  lift  his  head.  There  was  a  grinding 
noise.  Something  closed  round  him,  suffocating. 
Suddenly  the  earth  quaked,  jolted,  began  to  lurch 
beneath  him.  A  spasm  of  intolerable  pain  seemed 
tearing  his  bowels  out  of  him.  He  lost  conscious- 
ness. 

Another  voice,  this  time  a  woman's.     It  said: 

'  Yes,  there  were  four  officers;  one  is  dead." 

A  man's  voice  then: 

"  Send  me  the  most  pressing." 

The  woman's  voice.     "  This  one  is." 

"What's  he  got?" 

"  Penetrating  wound  of  the  abdomen." 

"Ah!     How's  his  pulse?" 

"  Very  low." 

"  Has  he  vomited?  " 

"  No." 

"How  long  since  he  was  wounded?" 

"  Six  hours." 

"  Send  him  along  to  me,  but  stimulate  him  first." 

"  I've  given  him  10  cc.  of  camphorated  oil." 

"  Good.  Give  one  of  sparteine,  and  one  oi 
cafeine." 

"  Very  well." 

The  woman's  voice  speaking  close  beside  him  was 


THE  TORTOISE  209 

a  voice  that  he  knew.  He  had  heard  it  many  times 
before.  It  was  a  part  of  him.  It  linked  him  with 
himself.  He  recognized  it  as  belonging  to  him. 
He  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  peace  and  security. 
He  felt  like  a  little  child,  light  and  helpless  and 
innocent.  He  wanted  to  cry  and  be  comforted  by 
the  woman  who  was  there  to  care  for  him.  A 
miracle  had  saved  him.  He  was  at  home.  His 
mother  must  be  in  the  next  room.  He  imagined 
her  white  head  shining  in  the  lamplight.  If  he 
turned  his  own  head  on  the  pillow  he  would  be  able 
to  see  the  clock  on  the  chimney  piece  and  the  two 
green  china  dogs. 

He  made  the  effort.  An  unclean  odour  under 
his  nose  smothered  him.  The  pillow  under  his  head 
was  hard.  It  was  no  pillow  at  all.  It  was  his  coat 
folded  up.  He  remembered  something.  It  eluded 
him,  but  he  knew  it  was  horrible.  He  was  thirsty. 
He  was  very  cold.  His  body  felt  to  him  like  a  cold 
stone,  but  in  the  middle  of  it  there  was  a  warm  sticky 
sensation.  He  felt  sick.  He  could  not  move  his 
hands  or  his  feet.  He  could  only  move  his  head. 
He  rolled  it  to  the  other  side,  opening  his  eyes. 

An  object  blocked  his  view.  It  was  another  head, 
there  beside  him,  horribly  close,  with  a  bandage 
round  it,  hiding  the  eyes  and  ears.  Only  the  black- 
ened nose  and  jaw  were  visible.  Wet  blood  oozed 
through  the  bandages.  He  knew  what  it  was.  He 
knew  all  about  it.  With  infinite  disgust  and  lassi- 
tude he  looked  at  it.  It  brought  back  to  him  the 
thing  he  remembered.  He  remembered  noise  and 


210  THE  TORTOISE 

red  light  running  along  the  edge  of  the  dark,  and 
a  throng  of  men  in  the  dark  running  forward  and  a 
hail  of  lead  peltering,  and  a  pellet  hitting  him. 
He  was  overcome  with  disappointment.  Where 
was  the  woman  with  the  voice  he  knew?  She  was 
not  there.  He  was  not  at  home;  he  had  been 
cheated. 

Was  he  back  in  the  trenches?  —  No,  he  had  no 
clothes  on,  only  a  blanket.  How  cold  he  was.  But 
the  blanket  was  too  heavy,  it  was  suffocating  him. 
If  he  tried  he  could  perhaps  throw  it  off.  It  was 
hurting  his  stomach.  If  he  tried  like  that  — 

"  Lie  still,"  said  the  woman's  voice  from  beyond 
his  feet.  "  If  you  move  you  will  be  sick.  It  is 
necessary  for  you  to  lie  perfectly  still."  The  voice 
was  firm  and  convincing.  He  obeyed  it. 

"  Please,  may  I  have  a  drink?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  can't  give  you  a  drink." 

"  I  am  dying  of  thirst." 

"  I  know  —  I  am  sorry  —  you  must  wait." 

"  Just  a  sip,  just  a  drop." 

"  No,  not  now.  I  am  giving  you  something  that 
will  diminish  your  thirst." 

He  whimpered  as  a  dart  of  fire  ran  into  his  thigh. 

Then  he  saw  her  rise  above  him  like  a  white  pillar. 
She  was  immensely  tall.  Her  face  was  indistinct. 
It  reminded  him  of  some  one,  but  before  he  could 
remember  what  she  looked  like,  it  was  gone. 

He  hated  her  for  not  giving  him  a  drink.  A 
drink  was  the  only  thing  to  be  desired  in  the  world. 
She  was  cruel  and  powerful  and  vindictive.  His 


THE  TORTOISE  211 

mouth  was  full  of  a  bad  sour  thick  taste.  Waves 
of  nausea  swept  over  him,  rolling  up  from  hideous 
aching  depths  inside  him.  His  tongue  was  enor- 
mous. It  filled  his  mouth.  It  was  unclean  and  cov- 
ered with  fur.  If  only  he  could  spit  it  out!  Ugh! 
the  revolting  flood  surged  to  his  lips.  He  lurched 
forward,  throwing  out  his  head.  His  entrails 
seemed  bursting  through  the  walls  of  his  body.  His 
head  wavered.  An  abyss  seemed  to  open  up  behind 
him  —  he  would  fall. 

Arms  supported  him.  He  was  saved.  A  basin 
was  held  beneath  his  lips.  He  was  conscious  of 
immense  relief,  and  then  of  phenomenal  weakness. 

*'  Gargle  this  and  spit  out  every  drop,"  said  the 
woman  who  had  saved  him.  He  filled  his  mouth 
with  cold  water.  Conscious  of  the  enormous  sin  it 
would  be  to  yield  to  the  temptation  of  swallowing  he 
resisted  temptation.  Her  divine  presence  gave  him 
the  strength  to  do  it.  She  was  an  angel  with  a  will 
of  iron  and  he  was  her  slave,  eternally  grateful.  He 
spat  out  all  the  water,  not  one  drop  found  its  way 
down  his  throat.  He  was  filled  with  a  sense  of 
victory.  Surely  she  would  commend  him. 

"  You  see,  I  am  good,"  he  murmured. 

"  Yes,  very  good,  my  poor  child." 

Then  all  at  once,  he  knew  her  name. 

"  Helene,"  he  said  weakly,  "  Helene." 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  laying  him  flat 
again.  She  was  going  away.  Panic  seized  him,  he 
clutched  her  hand. 

"  Don't  leave  me." 


212  THE  TORTOISE 

"  They  are  taking  you  to  the  radiograph  now. 
I  will  go  as  far  as  the  door  with  you."  Her  voice 
was  cold  and  infinitely  wise.  She  undoubtedly  knew 
everything  about  him.  She  knew  who  he  was  and 
what  they  were  going  to  do  to  him,  and  what  had 
happened,  and  what  wasi  going  to  happen.  Of 
course  she  knew;  she  was  omniscient  and  omnipotent 
and  she  was  his  friend.  She  was  marvellous  and 
white  and  strong.  His  life  depended  on  her;  she 
had  held  him  while  he  vomited  filth;  she  was  a  saint. 

They  were  by  this  time  moving.  He  was  sway- 
ing again.  She  walked  beside  him.  Lying  on  his 
back  he  turned  his  head  sideways  to  see  her.  She 
floated  beside  him;  her  head  was  in  a  white  aureole. 
They  went  on  and  on,  they  passed  under  miles  of 
interminable  roof,  that  arched  like  a  cave  above  him. 
He  was  in  a  cave  of  pain.  She  guided  him.  He 
was  conscious  of  great  solitude,  yet  he  knew  there 
were  figures  moving  all  about  him.  They  were 
shadowy  blurs.  Their  voices  sounded  far  away. 
She  was  near,  he  could  touch  her  sleeve.  Strange 
mysteries  of  horror  menaced  him.  Her  reality  was 
a  guarantee  of  safety. 

In  a  black  hole,  they  put  him  down.  A  huge  red 
face  with  a  black  beard  came  down  on  him.  He 
cried  out  to  her: 

"  Helene,  don't  leave  me !  " 

She  said:     "  I  must  go;  there  are  others  waiting." 

"Other  what?" 

"  Other  wounded  men." 

"Ah,  it's  that  is  it?" 


THE  TORTOISE  213 

The  red  face  said.  "  There's  the  orifice  of  en- 
trance. The  ball  has  remained.  There's  no  other 
wound." 

They  were  stripping  him  of  his  blankets  and  of 
the  covering  round  his  stomach. 

She  said.  "  Au  revoir!  Bon  courage!"  She 
was  gone.  He  called  her  name  despairingly,  but  his 
voice  made  no  sound.  There  was  no  more  light, 
only  a  red  spark  somewhere  down  there  way  off  like 
the  signal  of  a  train  on  a  dark  night.  Monsters  had 
him  now  in  their  power.  He  was  helpless.  She 
had  abandoned  him.  He  resigned  himself  to  the 
horrors  of  the  dark. 

Helen  marvelled  to  herself  as  she  went  back  to 
her  ward,  that  even  the  gods  of  war  could  indulge 
in  irony. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  glaring 
light  in  the  entrance  hut,  showed  up  with  infernal 
distinctness  the  double  row  of  wounded  men,  lying 
on  stretchers  one  against  another.  The  floor  was 
littered  with  refuse,  piles  of  clothing,  soaked  with 
mud,  boots,  helmets,  water  flasks,  soiled  bandages, 
dirt.  Orderlies  were  coming  and  going,  scrubbing, 
gathering  up  bundles  of  clothes.  Pails  of  dirty 
water  stood  about.  Basins  full  of  blood.  Tin  cups. 
Hot  water  bottles.  Two  men,  naked  on  tables  be- 
hind a  screen  were  being  washed.  The  hideous  in- 
timacy of  their  wounds  glared  up  from  their  flesh, 
unashamed.  A  man  in  delirium  with  nothing  on  him 
but  a  belt  of  flannel  and  the  head  bandage  that  held 
together  his  skull,  was  sitting  up  on  his  stretcher 


214  THE  TORTOISE 

gesticulating  and  shouting  to  the  prone  bodies  round 
him  like  some  mad  preacher.  He  was  unheeded. 
His  congregation  lay  about  him  in  attitudes  that 
mocked  his  ravings;  some  on  their  stomachs,  some 
with  twisted  legs,  some  hanging  off  their  stretchers, 
head  downward,  most  flat  on  their  backs  staring  up- 
ward. The  light  showed  up  the  dark  stains  of  the 
life  blood  that  was  oozing  out  of  each  one  of  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  shed  the  door  kept  opening 
incessantly  to  the  endless  procession  of  arrivals. 

The  grizzled  orderlies  moved  slowly  with  feet  of 
lead.  They  were  tired,  they  were  like  grey  beetles, 
crawling  about  under  the  weight  of  an  impossible 
task. 

From  the  centre  of  the  hut  she  called  out  to  them. 

"  Now  then,  some  energy.  We  are  all  tired,  but 
it's  no  use  saying  so.  Come,  Edouard,  quick,  cut 
that  one's  clothes  off.  This  one  is  ready,  carry  him 
through  to  operating  room  No.  5.  Clear  away  this 
pile,  my  old  one. —  No,  little  father,  don't  touch  him, 
let  him  die  in  peace  —  Help  me  lift  this  one.  And 
those  basins  must  be  emptied.  Remenez  go  to  the 
pharmacie  for  more  ether  and  iodine.  Have  those 
bottles  filled  quickly.  Now  then,  a  little  courage, 
my  friends." 

They  obeyed  her.  With  their  old  joints  creaking 
and  their  ancient  faces  sweating,  they  bent  again  to 
the  endless  business. 

An  hour  later  an  orderly  from  the  operating 
rooms  came  for  her. 

"  Monsieur  Groult  wants  you." 


THE  TORTOISE  215 

She  found  St.  Christe  lying  on  an  operating  table, 
motionless.  A  group  of  doctors  stood  round  the 
shining  room,  chatting  and  smoking  cigarettes. 
Their  aprons  were  streaked  with  blood,  their  faces 
humorous.  A  nurse  flew  through  the  door  and  out 
again  with  a  happy  intense  smile  on  her  face.  Be- 
yond the  thin  partition  the  electric  engines  of  the 
sterilizing  apparatus,  roared  and  whizzed.  Clouds 
of  steam  came  through  the  door  of  the  sterilizing 
room  into  the  corridor.  The  doctors  and  students 
were  discussing  with  enthusiasm  the  beauty  of  the 
operation  just  finished. 

The  head  surgeon  said  to  her. 

"  It  seems  the  captain  is  a  friend  of  yours." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him." 

He  smiled  sympathetically,  his  eyes  feverishly 
bright  in  his  drawn  face. 

"  I've  extracted  the  bullet.  There  were  two  per- 
forations of  the  small  intestine.  We  must  try  and 
pull  him  through.  Do  you  know  his  mother's  ad- 
dress?" 

"  The  Princess  lives  in  Paris,  1 1  rue." 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  send  a  wire  in  the  morning." 

"  It  is  very  serious  then?  " 

"  All  that  is  most  serious." 

She  was  conscious  of  the  eyes  of  the  surrounding 
doctors  fixed  on  her  with  interest.  Had  Jocelyn 
called  her  name  again  —  she  wondered. 

She  turned  away. 

"  You  might  see  that  the  captain  is  put  properly 
to  bed,  Madame." 


216  THE  TORTOISE 

"  If  you  wish,  Monsieur,  but  they  are  arriving 
constantly.  There  are  waiting  for  you  now  two 
abdomens,  three  knees,  a  fractured  pelvis,  as  for 
the  rest,  many  head  cases,  legs,  shoulders  — " 

"  You  don't  wish  then,  particularly  to  take  care 
of  the  captain?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur." 

"  Ah,  very  well."  He  lost  interest  in  her  and 
turned  to  give  orders  to  some  one  else.  The  faces 
of  the  doctors  expressed  astonishment  and  disap- 
pointment. She  left  them  and  went  back  to  her 
reeking  hall,  that  had  become  of  a  sudden  a  refuge. 

Out  of  the  prostrate  silent  crowd,  a  voice  was 
calling.  It  came  to  her  faint  and  plaintive. 

"  Madame,  ma  soeur,  Madame,  where  are  you?  " 

She  could  not  at  first  tell  from  which  recumbent 
body  it  came;  up  and  down  the  rows  of  them  she 
searched  for  it. 

"  Ma  soeur,  ma  soeur!  "  sounded  the  wail  of  dis- 
tress. It  was  the  blind  man  who  had  lain  next  to 
Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe.  She  had  seen  on  his  ticket 
the  words:  "  Blind,  shot  through  the  eyes,"  and 
had  left  him.  No  urgent  call  in  his  case,  he  was 
blind  forever.  Then  she  had  forgotten  him.  Now 
his  voice  summoned  her.  She  went  to  him,  sliding 
between  his  form  and  the  next  one  and  took  his 
hand.  • 

"  Ah,  you  are  there!  "  The  sightless  bound  head 
did  not  move,  but  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  I  am  here." 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said  in  the  tone  of  a  comforted 


THE  TORTOISE  217 

child,  and  then  he  added.  "  I  thought  that  I  was 
abandoned  here,  all  alone." 

She  looked  round  the  crowded  place ;  "  No,  my 
friend,  you  are  not  alone,"  she  said,  then  suddenly 
her  nerves  gave  way.  She  began  to  cry.  Her  face 
twisted.  She  fled  to  the  end  of  the  hut  behind  the 
screen.  Her  orderlies  were  greatly  concerned.  No 
one  had  ever  seen  her  cry. 

"  It  is  the  weariness,"  muttered  one. 

"  She's  not  strong,"  put  in  another. 

"  All  the  same  it's  a  dog's  job  this,"  growled  an- 
other. 

They  watched  her  miserably  from  under  their 
shaggy  eyebrows.  He  who  was  known  as  "  little 
Father  "  brought  her  coffee  in  a  tin  cup.  She  smiled 
at  him  through  her  tears.  Presently  she  went  on 
with  her  work.  Dawn  found  her  kneeling  on  the 
floor  with  a  boy  of  nineteen  in  her  arms. 

"  Maman,"  he  breathed,  "  Ma  pauvre  Maman, 
adieu."  His  slim  body,  slippery  with  cold  sweat, 
clothed  by  the  soaked  bandages  that  bound  his 
wounded  chest  and  shattered  legs,  was  heavy  and 
cold  against  her.  One  grey  arm  tightened  convul- 
sively round  her  neck.  His  head  fell  backward. 
His  jaw  worked  regularly,  with  the  jerking  twitch 
of  death.  Remenez,  the  priest  stood  over  them 
muttering  prayers  for  the  soul  that  was  slipping 
away.  The  working  of  the  jaw  ceased.  No  more 
breath  came  through  the  parted  lips.  There  was  no 
flicker  from  the  open  eyelids.  She  laid  him  down 
as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  came  through  the  windows 


2i8  THE  TORTOISE 

of  the  fearful  place.  Of  all  the  dead  who  had  died 
that  night  in  her  presence,  this  boy  had  wanted  the 
most  to  live. 

She  staggered  to  her  feet.     The  old  priest  said. 

"  Madame,  it  is  morning,  you  must  go  and  rest." 

"And  you?"  she  asked. 

"  I  will  go  soon,  when  the  others  come  on  duty. 
There  are  no  more  wounded  arriving  at  present." 

"  You  are  a  good  man,"  she  said,  "  and  a  faithful 
priest  of  God." 

"  But  what  has  God  to  do  with  this?  "  she  asked 
herself  as  she  crept  away  over  the  stained  floor 
that  glittered  with  the  slime  of  wasted  life,  and  went 
out  into  the  glorious  morning,  of  the  new  incredible 
day. 

It  was  however  known  that  day  in  the  hospital 
that  a  captain  in  the  "  Chasseurs  a  pied  "  had  come 
in  wounded  during  the  night,  that  he  had  called  for 
Madame  Chudd,  by  her  'Christian  name  and  that 
the  latter,  whom  every  one  had  believed  so  cold 
and  businesslike  had  broken  down  after  the  opera- 
tion and  had  wept.  Romance,  a  strange  creature  of 
Heaven,  had  found  its  way  across  a  battlefield  and 
had  alighted  on  the  settlement  of  wooden  sheds. 

Helen  wrapped  in  her  woollen  dressing  gown  with 
her  feet  in  a  pail  of  hot  water  and  mustard,  heard 
the  nurses  whispering  beyond  the  thin  walls  of  her 
cubicle : 

11  He  is  very  bad." 

"  And  as  handsome  as  a  God." 

"  A  croix  de  guerre  with  two  palms." 


THE  TORTOISE  219 

"  Susanne  is  nursing  him  in  the  officers'  ward,  and 
you  know — " 

'  You  think  so  really  —  What  an  extraordinary 
thing.  Is  she  with  him  now?" 

"  I  don't  know."  The  two  whisperers  moved 
away  with  a  rustle  of  petticoats. 

Helen  heard  them  without  taking  in  the  meaning 
of  what  they  said.  Their  voices  reached  her  ears 
but  not  her  brain.  Her  head  felt  very  light  and 
empty,  and  her  feet  unnaturally  large.  Throbs  of 
pain  travelled  up  them  to  her  knees  and  thighs.  She 
had  lost  contact  with  reality,  except  for  her  feet. 
Those  aching  limbs  down  there  in  the  steaming  pun- 
gent water  held  her  down,  otherwise  she  felt  that 
she  would  float  away  into  nothingness.  She  had 
only  to  close  her  eyes  to  die.  Dying  was  so  easy, 
death  was  so  simple.  She  had  watched  it.  It  came 
like  a  healing  angel.  It  laid  its  hand  on  a  struggling 
thing  of  agony  and  the  struggling  ceased.  She  re- 
membered rolling  heads  and  distorted  limbs,  and 
starting  eyes,  and  wagging  choking  tongues.  She 
heard  the  groans,  the  short  panic-stricken  panting 
breaths  that  preceded  the  absolute,  unutterable  quiet 
of  death. 

She  thought:  "  If  William  is  dead,  he  is  quiet, 
and  I  need  not  live  any  longer."  And  then,  "  if  he 
is  dead,  he  knows  the  truth." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  only  happy  men  in  the 
world  were  those  who  had  died.  She  imagined 
their  souls  like  little  puffs  of  white  smoke  floating 
away  through  the  glorious  day,  while  their  bodies 
were  being  carried  to  the  morgue. 


IV 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  VAUMONT  re- 
turning from  early  mass  in  the  chapel  next 
the  morgue,  was  joined  by  the  sergeant 
of  the  officers'  ward.  She  had  adored  the  blessed 
Virgin  with  desperation  that  morning.  Kneeling  on 
the  bare  ground,  her  heart  sick  with  the  horror  of 
the  dreadful  night  she  had  prayed  for  faith.  If  her 
faith  failed  her,  her  reason  she  felt  would  go  with 
it.  If  there  were  no  peace  in  no  Heaven  and  no 
solace,  no  comfort,  no  joy,  anywhere,  for  any  one  of 
the  men  who  went  by  chattering  delirious  thousands 
to  the  gates  of  death,  then  the  world  was  a  mad 
house  and  she  the  slave  of  a  monstrous  delusion. 

She  knelt  motionless  before  the  rude  altar,  whis- 
pering feverishly  while  blasphemous  thoughts  like 
crazy  imps,  darted  through  her  dazed  brain.  A 
nauseating  odour  from  the  dead  bodies  beyond  the 
partition  permeated  the  hallowed  place.  The  lame 
priest  Remenez  administered  the  Holy  Sacrament 
as  if  in  a  trance.  His  hands  trembled.  His  eyes 
were  sunken.  There  was  an  expression  of  fanatic 
peace  on  his  grimy  bearded  face. 

The  mystic  ritual  steadied  her  brain.  Her  an- 
guish in  doubting  God  that  was  like  the  anguish  of 
a  woman  afraid  of  being  betrayed  by  the  man  she 
adored,  produced  a  revulsion  of  feeling.  She  con- 

220 


THE  TORTOISE  221 

demned  herself  for  doubting,  and  abased  herself  be- 
fore the  divine  being,  and  was  ashamed.  Minutely 
she  scrutinized  her  own  conduct  during  the  last 
dreadful  twenty-four  hours.  She  was  not  sure  that 
she  had  not  failed  in  her  duty.  Her  sense  of  per- 
sonal weakness  overwhelmed  her.  She  implored 
forgiveness  from  the  Holy  Son  of  God. 

She  came  away  fortified.  Praying;  she  no  longer 
questioned  the  wisdom  of  the  Divine  Spirit  who  sent 
men  to  death  in  thousands.  She  knew  that  she  could 
not  understand  and  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  her 
to  understand.  Her  self  abasement  comforted  her. 
She  was  made  strong  by  the  realization  of  her  own 
sinfulness.  God  was  wise  and  merciful,  no  matter 
what  the  horrors  of  the  earth  might  lead  one  to 
suppose.  She  believed  this.  She  must  believe  it, 
her  life  depended  on  her  believing  it. 

The  sergeant  of  the  officers'  ward  said  that  a 
captain  in  the  chasseurs  a  pied  had  come  in  during 
the  night  and  was  asking  for  Madame  Chudd. 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  listened  to  him,  showing 
no  surprise,  and  followed  him  into  the  officers'  hut. 

Two  rows  of  haggard  heads  stared  from  above 
disordered  blankets. 

"  In  which  bed  is  he?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  12,  at  the  end,  behind  the  screen." 

Here  and  there  from  stained  pillows  a  flicker  of 
intelligence  greeted  her  nod  of  good  morning  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  end  of  the  hut. 

She  leaned  down  above  the  grey  moist  face  of  the 
man  in  bed  No.  12. 


222  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know  him,"  she  murmured.  But 
the  vague  eyes  that  half  opened  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  showed  no  signs  of  recognition. 

"  So  it  is  you,  dear  Jocelyn,  my  poor  child,"  she 
said  tenderly,  taking  his  hand. 

The  sick  man  spoke  plaintively. 

"  Where  is  Helene?     Why  doesn't  she  come?  " 

"  She  is  resting." 

"  Resting?  "  he  queried  vaguely,  and  then,  like 
a  pettish  child:  "  But  she  will  come  soon,  won't 
she?  She's  sure  to  come,  isn't  she?" 

"  But  assuredly,"  she  soothed  him,  straightening 
his  blankets. 

He  moved  his  head.  An  idiotic  smile  half  deliri- 
ous twisted  his  features.  He  seemed  by  some  play 
of  his  damp  features  to  be  beckoning  her  closer. 
She  leaned  down. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  whispered,  "  I'll  tell  you  in 
confidence,  I  must  see  her,  I  have  something  impor- 
tant to  tell  her;  a  secret,  you  understand.  You  must 
call  her,  you  see?  It's  like  that,  you  understand." 

The  smile  died  away,  a  desperate  sane  entreaty 
darkened  his  now  wide-open  eyes. 

"  Find  Helene,"  he  commanded. 

"  I  will  find  her,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont. 

He  closed  his  eyes.  The  stillness  that  came  over 
him  was  like  the  stillness  of  death. 

Henriette  de  Vaumont  was  a  nun  who  had  never 
taken  the  veil.  She  had  lived  like  a  nun  in  the  midst 
of  a  world  of  men,  since  the  day  that  her  five 
brothers  had  forced  her  to  abandon  her  dream  of  en- 


THE  TORTOISE  223 

tering  a  convent.  She  adored  her  brothers.  The 
family  conference  to  which  uncles  and  aunts  and 
cousins  had  been  summoned  by  the  impetuous  five 
and  over  which  the  plump  little  old  mother  of  the 
big  men  presided  with  timid  wistfulness,  had  been 
a  clamour  of  affectionate  reproach  and  entreaty. 
The  note  of  affection  had  rung  sincere  through 
the  loudest  and  highest  bursts  of  protestation.  It 
was  sufficient  tribute  to  the  goodness  and  sweetness 
of  the  dear  big  plain  creature  under  discussion 
that  all  of  those  present,  and  among  them  were 
some  of  the  proudest  men  and  the  most  elegant 
women  of  France,  declared  that  they  could  not  do 
without  her.  They  had  embraced  her,  and  cried  out 
at  her  shrilly  in  emotional  terms  of  endearment. 
Tears  had  been  shed.  The  little  mother  had  wept 
gently,  the  brothers  had  tramped  up  and  down  wav- 
ing their  arms,  but  at  last  a.n  agreement  had  been 
reached.  She  was  not  to  be  forced  to  marry,  no 
further  proposal  of  that  kind  would  ever  be  made, 
she  was  to  be  allowed  to  become  that  strange  and 
abhorrent  thing,  an  old  maid,  provided  she  remained 
among  them.  She  had  remained,  giving  her  life  to 
her  relations  and  the  poor.  It  had  not  seemed  to 
her  incongruous  to  live  in  the  world  and  follow  the 
humble  way  of  the  blessed  saints.  In  turn  with  her 
aunt  and  cousins  she  had  fulfilled  the  duties  of  Lady 
in  Waiting  to  the  Duchess  d'Orleans  and  the 
Comtesse  de  Paris.  Carefully  and  conscientiously, 
she  had  divided  her  time  between  the  hospitable 
Royal  Families  of  Europe  and  the  slums  of  Paris. 


224  THE  TORTOISE 

Her  ungainly  figure  was  seen  periodically  at  Windsor 
Castle  and  Buckingham  Palace.  For  as  regular  pe- 
riods it  disappeared  into  the  tenement  houses  of 
the  poorest  arrondissement  of  Paris.  She  admitted 
the  obligations  of  her  family.  With  them,  she 
mourned  the  fall  of  the  monarchy,  but  she  loved  her 
seamstresses  and  washerwomen.  Her  relations 
thought  her  queer  but  they  kept  to  their  part  of  the 
bargain  and  did  not  interfere.  Only  one  of  her 
more  distant  cousins,  the  Princess  of  Narbonne  had 
indulged  in  mockery.  She  was  known  to  have  said: 
"  Henriette,  poor  creature,  it  is  because  she  is  so 
ugly  that  she  wished  to  espouse  the  Christ,"  but 
later,  the  Princess  had  defended  Henriette  to  her 
son. 

"Why  do  I  have  her  about  the  house?  —  Be- 
cause she  is  good  and  happy.  She  is  the  only  per- 
fectly cheerful  person  of  my  acquaintance,  and  she 
prays  for  me  without  ever  letting  me  know  it.  If 
God  forgives  me  my  sins  it  will  be  her  doing." 

However  that  might  be,  Mademoiselle  de  Vau- 
mont  at  the  age  of  forty-five  loved  God  and  under- 
stood the  world.  She  was  not  easily  shocked  by  the 
latter.  Its  habits  were  to  her  an  old  rather  than 
tiresome  story,  it  held  for  her  no  surprises. 

She  was  not  in  the  least  scandalized  by  the  fact, 
for  such  she  assumed  it  to  be,  that  Jocelyn  de  St. 
Christe  was  the  lover  of  Mrs.  Chudd.  Deep  in 
her  old  maid's  heart  she  had  a  romantic  sympathy 
with  lovers.  She  felt  that  she  had  come  on  the  solu- 


THE  TORTOISE  225 

tion  of  the  Englishwoman's  mysterious  sadness. 
They  were  lovers  and  they  had  been  separated  by 
the  war.  A  miraculous  coincidence  had  brought 
them  together  and  she  pitied  them  both,  for  she  was 
sure  that  Jocelyn  was  going  to  die. 

A  doctor  stopped  her  at  the  door  of  the  officers' 
ward.  He  suggested  to  her  in  a  discreet  undertone 
that  it  would  be  advisable  that  Madame  Chudd 
should  come  to  sit  beside  the  "  captaine."  Monsieur 
Groult,  the  Head  Surgeon  believed  that  the  latter 
might  pull  through  if  he  could  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet.  Keeping  him  quiet  was  extremely  difficult. 
He  knew  that  Madame  Chudd  had  been  up  all  night, 
but  he  was  sure,  that  under  the  very  special  circum- 
stances she  would  not  mind  being  disturbed.  It  was 
an  interesting  case.  The  operation  had  been  most 
successful.  Monsieur  Groult  would  be  desolated,  if 
things  were  to  go  wrong. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  agreed  with  him 
gravely. 

A  group  of  nurses  looking  somewhat  like  arctic 
explorers  were  drinking  their  morning  coffee  round 
the  stove  in  the  mess  room  as  she  entered.  They 
greeted  her  with  a  chorus  of  cheerful  good  mornings. 
She  put  a  cup  of  coffee  and  two  slices  of  bread  on  a 
plate  and  went  down  the  corridor  to  Mrs.  Chudd's 
door,  knocking  timidly.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  about  to  do  a  necessary  but  indelicate  thing. 
She  was  confused  at  the  idea  of  intruding  on  an- 
other's secret.  Her  errand  was  both  tragic  and  awk- 


226  THE  TORTOISE 

ward.  She  must  convey  somehow  the  true  impres- 
sion that  she  had  come  in  sympathy,  and  without 
curiosity. 

Helen  was  in  bed.  Only  the  top  of  her  smooth 
head  showed  above  the  grey  blankets. 

"Yes,  what  is  it?"  she  asked  dully  of  the  big 
woman  looming  above  her. 

"  I  have  brought  some  coffee,  I  hope  you  were  not 
asleep,  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  No,  I  wasn't  asleep.  It  is  most  good  of  you." 
The  long  gaunt  creature  in  the  rough  bed  pulled 
herself  up  to  a  sitting  posture  and  taking  the  plate 
and  cup  began  drinking  the  coffee  in  large  gulps. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  sitting  miserably  on 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  little  pitying  eyes  fixed  on 
the  thin  face  between  the  two  long  plaits  of  fair 
hair,  waited  for  the  coffee  to  be  finished. 

"  How  ill  she  looks,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  How 
she  must  have  suffered.  Her  eyes  are  too  large  for 
her  face.  They  seem  to  be  falling  back  into  her 
head  from  sheer  weight.  There  is  nothing  left  to 
her  face.  Poor  thing!  Poor  thing." 

She  nerved  herself  to  speak:  "You  are  so 
brave,"  she  faltered;  "  I  cannot  bear  to  tell  you,  but 
you  are  brave.  I  have  sad  news  for  you,  a  message." 

The  cup  in  Helen's  hand  rattled  suddenly  against 
the  plate.  A  look  of  terror  distorted  her  face. 

"A  message?"  she  echoed. 

'  Yes,  a  message  from  a  wounded  man." 

"Quick,  tell  me;  I  am  sent  for,  where?" 


THE  TORTOISE  227 

She  plunged  forward,  was  half  out  of  bed. 

"  An  officer  is  asking  for  you." 

"An  officer?     No,  he  can't  be  an  officer." 

"  My  poor  child,  the  capitaine  de  St.  Christe  is 
here,  dangerously  wounded." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  but  the  message —  You 
said  — " 

"  It  is  from  him,  he  is  asking  for  you." 

"  You  mean,  you  mean !  You  are  telling  me  that 
Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  is  sending  for  me?  " 

11  Yes." 

"  That  was  the  message?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Oh!"  Helen  groaned,  her  eyes  closed.  She 
fell  back  into  the  bed.  She  seemed  scarcely  to 
breathe.  "  I  thought,"  she  murmured,  "  that  it  was 
something  else." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  saw  her  shudder,  and 
her  pallor  became  livid.  The  Frenchwoman  was 
bewildered.  Instinctively  maternal  she  tucked  the 
blankets  round  the  thin  shoulders.  Helen  lay  quite 
still  with  her  eyes  closed. 

Henriette  de  Vaumont  stared  helplessly  at  the 
enigmatic  suffering  before  her. 

"  You  knew?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"About  Monsieur  de  St.  Christe?  Oh,  yes,  I 
knew,  I  was  there  when  he  came  in." 

"You  realize  that  he  is  gravely  wounded?" 

"  Yes." 

"  The  doctors  have  very  little  hope." 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry." 


228  THE  TORTOISE 

"He  is  calling  incessantly  for  you;  Monsieur 
Groult  asks  you  to  come  to  him." 

"  I  scarcely  think  that  necessary." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  was  shocked. 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  go  to  him?  "  she  gasped. 

"  No." 

"  Ah,  I  see.  I  have  made  a  mistake."  The 
French  woman  rose  to  go.  She  did  not  understand, 
and  she  recoiled  from  the  mystery  that  no  longer 
concerned  her,  since  she  could  no  longer  help. 

"  I  will  tell  the  Doctor  that  you  are  too  tired  to 
come,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  Yes,  tell  him  that,"  replied  Helen. 

Then  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont's  good  breeding 
broke  down. 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  care  if  he  dies," 
she  cried. 

"  No,  I  don't  care." 

Helen  heard  the  French  woman  go.  She  would 
have  called  her  back  to  explain  to  her  what  she  meant 
if  she  had  not  been  so  tired.  She  would  have  said 
that  of  course  if  she  were  ordered  to  nurse  de  St. 
Christe  she  would  obey,  that  she  was  very  sorry 
he  was  so  ill,  and  that  when  she  said  she  didn't  care 
whether  he  died  or  not  she  meant  that  his  death  was 
no  more  terrible  to  her  than  the  death  of  any  other 
wounded  man.  She  wondered  whether  such  an  ex- 
planation would  have  made  things  any  better.  Per- 
haps not.  She  realized  that  she  had  alienated  the 
one  person  in  the  hospital  upon  whom  she  had 
counted  for  sympathy.  Her  solitude  was  complete. 


THE  TORTOISE  229 

But  in  spite  of  Madame  Chudd's  peculiar  be- 
haviour Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  did  not  die.  His 
mother  found  him  very  weak  but  clear-headed  when 
she  arrived  three  days  later.  Monsieur  Groult, 
who  had  dismissed  the  English  nurse's  amazing 
attitude  with  a  lift  of  exasperated  shoulders,  was 
delighted.  The  arrival  of  the  Princess  and  her 
daughter  the  pretty  Marquise  de  C  .  .  .  in  the 
motor  of  the  corps  commander,  accompanied  by  the 
general  in  person,  created  a  flurry  of  pleasurable  ex- 
citement in  the  community  of  surgeons  and  nurses. 
Monsieur  Groult  was  very  busy  receiving  congratu- 
lations and  thanks.  The  general  decorated  the 
Comte  de  St.  Christe  with  the  Legion  of  Honour 
and  took  tea  with  the  ladies  in  the  Medecin  Chef's 
office.  Every  one  talked  of  the  Princess's  courage 
in  venturing  so  near  the  line  of  fire.  Eyes  followed 
her  from  every  doorway  as  she  hobbled  through  the 
mud,  leaning  on  Monsieur  Groult's  arm. 

She  begged  permission  to  remain  beside  her  son 
for  a  day  or  two.  The  permission  was  granted, 
with  effusive  apologies  for  the  discomfort  she  must 
endure  in  such  quarters.  She  professed  herself  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  the  two  cubicles  that  were  pre- 
pared for  her  daughter  and  herself  in  the  nurses' 
hut. 

The  general  took  leave  of  her  with  a  promise  to 
send  an  officer  the  next  day  for  news.  He  kissed 
the  Princess's  hand  at  the  door  of  the  nurses'  hut, 
and  she  called  him  her  "  cher  General  et  ami."  The 
hospital  staff  were  pleasantly  thrilled. 


230  THE  TORTOISE 

"  And  now,  Henrietta,  what's  this  Jocelyn  tells 
me  about  an  English  woman,  a  nurse  here,"  asked 
the  Princess  turning  up  her  petticoat  in  front  of 
her  nurse's  stove.  "  I  arrive  at  my  son's  bedside, 
thinking  to  find  him  dying,  and  he  says  to  me,  after 
letting  himself  be  kissed :  '  What  have  you  done 
with  her?  ' — '  with  whom?  '  I  ask.  '  With  Helen,' 
he  raps  out.  '  This  is  the  second  time,'  he  insists. 
'  And  I  won't  have  it.  She  saved  my  life.'  I  am 
nonplussed.  I  smooth  his  forehead,  I  tell  him  I  will 
see,  I  promise.  What,  my  good  Henriette,  is  it  all 
about?" 

"  We  have  an  English  nurse  here,  dear  Aunt,  who 
knows  your  son." 

"What  is  her  name?" 

"  Madame  Chudd." 

"  No,  it's  not  possible,  it  can't  be." 

"  You  know  her,  Aunt?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  I  don't  like  her." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Aunt;  she  is  a  good  nurse." 

"  And  she's  been  nursing  Jocelyn,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,  Aunt;  as  he  told  you,  she  has  not  been  with 
him  at  all." 

"Why  not?" 

"  She  refused." 

"Refused?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt,  she  refused."     The  Princess  scowled. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  In  her  service." 

"Shall  I  have  to  see  her?" 

"  It  will  be  difficult  to  avoid  it.     We  are  obliged 


THE  TORTOISE  231 

to  have  our  meals  here  together;  moreover,  she  has 
given  you  her  room,  I  should  say  her  bed." 

"Given  me  her  bed?  Where  does  the  creature 
sleep  then?  " 

"  Here  on  a  camp  bed." 

"  So  I  must  see  her  at  dinner  time  and  thank  her 
for  giving  me  her  bed?  "  The  Princess  made  a 
face. 

"  It  would  be  courteous." 

"  Well,  well,  if  I  must,  I  must;  but  I  don't  like  it. 
Take  me  back  to  Jocelyn.  I  don't  know  my  way; 
all  these  sheds  are  alike.  What  shall  I  tell  him 
about  his  friend?  It's  very  curious,  very  curious; 
I  don't  understand  it." 

But  the  Princess  did  not  see  Mrs.  Chudd  at  dinner. 
The  latter  sent  an  orderly  to  tell  the  Infirmiere  Ma- 
jor that  her  work  kept  her.  She  excused  herself 
from  dinner. 

That  night  at  ten  o'clock,  Mademoiselle  de  Vau- 
mont  found  her  behind  the  screen  at  the  end  of  the 
empty  receiving  hut,  cleaning  instruments.  The 
older  woman  remonstrated. 

"  My  dear,  you  must  come  and  rest." 

"  I  am  not  tired,  Mademoiselle." 

"  But  your  work  is  finished ;  there  are  no  arrivals." 

Helen  looked  about  her.  "  I  like  it  here,  I  am  at 
home  here,"  she  said. 

Henriette  de  Vaumont  was  no  fool,  and  her  heart 
smote  her.  She  knew  that  the  Hospital  staff  had 
turned  against  Mrs.  Chudd  and  that  the  latter  was 
aware  of  it.  She  blamed  herself  for  not  having  de- 


232  THE  TORTOISE 

fended  the  isolated  Englishwoman.  Her  aunt  had 
told  her  enough  that  evening  after  dinner  to  give  her 
the  clue  she  wanted.  She  understood  her  aunt. 

She  spoke  timidly.  "  Come  with  me,  come  to  my 
room.  I  have  misjudged  you ;  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you,  so  that  I  can  explain;  the  doctors,  the 
nurses  — " 

"  I  can't  talk,"  said  Helen  in  a  level  concise  tone. 
"  I  can't.  If  the  staff  is  displeased,  if  they  don't 
like  me,  if  you  don't  want  me  any  longer  I  can  go 
away.  Thank  you  for  your  kindness,  but  believe 
me,  there  is  nothing  to  say;  I  cannot  explain." 

That  night,  the  Princess  had  a  whispered  conver- 
sation of  some  intensity  with  her  son  in  the  dark- 
ened ward,  at  the  end  of  which  he  turned  his  head 
from  her  with  a  groan.  He  did  not  mention  Mrs. 
Chudd's  name  again. 


DURING  the  days  that  followed  Helen  be- 
came more  and  more  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  the  nurses  and  doctors  avoided  speak- 
ing to  her.     One  day  passing  the  mess  room  she 
heard  some  one  say:     "  But  why  doesn't  she  nurse 
her  own  people  ?     She  is  English ;  we  can  quite  well 
take  care  of  our  wounded  without  the  help  of  a 
stranger." 

She  put  on  her  cloak  and  rubber  boots  and  went  up 
the  hill  behind  the  Hospital.  On  the  top  of  the 
hill,  she  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  stones  and  wondered 
what  she  should  do.  She  must  go  away,  but  she 
did  not  know  where  to  go.  Peggy  was  in  the  North 
of  France  taking  care  of  officers.  She  would  be 
no  help  to  her  there.  She  must  either  go  home,  or 
ask  the  French  authorities  to  transfer  her  to  another 
hospital.  Had  she  the  courage  to  begin  again 
among  strangers?  —  For  the  first  time  she  admitted 
to  herself  that  she  was  almost  too  tired  to  live;  yet 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  the  decision  to  go 
home.  She  had  determined  to  see  the  war  out,  to 
a  finish:  moreover,  if  she  went  home,  she  would 
feel  that  she  was  losing  her  one  slim  miraculous 
chance  of  finding  her  husband.  She  had  had  no  news 
and  could  still  believe  him  to  be  alive. 

Beneath  her  feet,  the  strange  desert  rolled  away 

233 


234  THE  TORTOISE 

to  a  hard  horizon.  As  far  as  she  could  see,  armies 
were  camping.  William  was  there  perhaps,  some- 
where. She  shaded  her  eyes,  staring  north  to  the 
English  lines,  and  as  she  looked,  carried  to  her  on 
the  wind,  came  the  sound  of  fifes  playing.  A  Brit- 
ish regiment  was  marching,  somewhere,  hidden 
within  a  fold  of  the  hills. 

No,  she  would  not  go  home.  Since  she  had  no 
place  to  go,  and  they  did  not  want  her  to  stay  though 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  had  stated  the  contrary, 
she  must  go  where  she  was  sent.  After  all,  it  didn't 
matter  where,  she  was  always  alone,  wherever  she 
was. 

She  stumbled  wearily  down  the  hill,  past  the  re- 
mains of  old  abandoned  trenches  and  tangles  of 
barbed  wire.  Another  attack  was  preparing. 
There  would  be  a  new  rush  of  work  the  next  day; 
she  would  wait  for  that  and  then  ask  for  her  trans- 
fer. 

At  the  door  of  the  nurses'  hut,  an  English  officer 
was  waiting.  He  advanced  toward  her,  and  said  in 
very  quaint  French:  "  Est  Madame  Chudd  la?" 

"Jimmy!  "  she  cried,  running  forward. 

"Helen!  "he  shouted. 

They  stood  clinging  to  each  other's  hands,  devour- 
ing the  sight  of  each  other. 

"  I  didn't  recognize  you  —  Jove,  how  good  it  is 
to  see  you." 

"  Jimmy,  Jimmy,"  was  all  she  could  say. 

His  round  pink  face  grinned  at  her  from  under  his 
round  tin  hat.  He  was  all  round  like  a  bundle  in 


THE  TORTOISE  235 

his  rough  coat.  He  looked  like  a  disreputable  cupid 
who  had  started  out  for  the  North  pole. 

"  He  knows  something  about  William,"  she  said 
to  herself,  but  she  dared  not  ask.  Scarcely  dared 
she  formulate  the  question  in  her  own  mind.  She 
had  a  feeling  of  giddiness;  his  face  swam  before  her 
eyes. 

"  There's  no  place  to  receive  you,  but  the 
popotte,"  she  stammered  and  then  noticed  that  his 
eyes  like  her  own  were  suspiciously  wet.  u  But  why 
does  he  feel  like  crying?  "  she  wondered. 

She  led  him  into  the  hut.  There  was  no  one 
there.  Soiled  tea-cups  and  crusts  of  bread  covered 
the  bare  table. 

They  sat  down  by  the  stove,  stretching  out  their 
muddy  boots  to  it. 

"  Shall  I  make  you  some  tea?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  thanks;  I've  such  a  few  minutes.  My  gen- 
eral gave  me  a  lift.  He'll  be  back  to  pick  me  up  at 
any  moment.  There  is  so  much  to  say  — "  He 
paused. 

"  Yes,"  she  faltered,  and  then,  neither  spoke. 

She  felt  his  eyes  on  her  face.  She  was  afraid  to 
read  what  was  written  on  his. 

"  You  limp,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  It's  nothing,  a  flesh  wound.  I  was  laid  up  a 
week  or  two,  I'm  just  back  from  the  base.  Aw- 
fully bad  luck  being  out  of  it,  for  such  a  trifle." 

"  You  —  you  don't  like  it,  do  you,  up  there,  here, 
wherever  you  are?" 

"  I  hate  it." 


236  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Poor  Jimmy." 

"  One's  so  awfully  afraid." 

"  I  don't  believe  you." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am,  I'm  afraid  all  the  time.  I'm 
afraid  of  it,  and  I'm  afraid  of  being  afraid.  You 
can't  let  your  fellows  know  how  scared  you  are,  you 
know,  you  can't  let  them  down.  That  would  be 
worse  than  anything.  That's  what  keeps  you  go- 
ing. They  depend  on  you."  He  paused.  '  The 
mud  is  bad;  five  of  my  men  were  drowned  in  it  the 
other  night.  They  fell  into  a  shell  hole  in  the  dark 
and  were  sucked  down. 

She  shuddered;  a  deadly  feeling  of  sickness  filled 
her.  Was  he  preparing  her  for  bad  news,  the  worst 
news?  —  She  closed  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  so  changed,  I  didn't  recognize  you," 
she  heard  him  saying.  "  It's  awful  your  being  like 
this;  you  must  have  lost  two  stone;  you  ought  to 
go  home." 

"Home?"  she  echoed. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  dying  by  inches,"  he 
muttered. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  responded  quickly,  "  I'm  not,  I'm 
living  by  inches." 

"  You're  killing  yourself  in  this  place." 

"  No,  I  like  the  place." 

"  But  I  can  see  it;  your  face,  it's  all  gone." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is;  I  hadn't  noticed.  Is  it  so 
ugly? "  She  tried  to  smile,  looking  at  him,  but 
her  mouth  trembled  queerly,  and  at  the  sight  of  his 


THE  TORTOISE  237 

kind  funny  features  working  so  painfully,  his  eye- 
brows chasing  each  other  up  and  down  his  forehead, 
his  hand  rumpling  his  troubled  head,  she  broke 
down. 

'  Tell  me,  tell  me,"  she  whispered  huskily,  "  have 
you  any  news?     Have  you  seen  him?" 
'  Yes,  I  saw  him  yesterday." 

She  grew  suddenly  very  still.  "Where?"  she 
asked. 

"  In  a  dug  out." 

"Near  here?" 

"  About  twenty  miles  away." 

"  Oh,  my  God!  Oh,  my  God!  "  she  whispered 
and  began  to  silently  weep. 

Jimmy  sat  watching  her,  huddled  over  the  stove. 
His  eyes  dwelt  on  her  miserably;  he  seemed  to  be 
struggling  with  some  difficult  and  serious  problem. 
His  eyebrows  were  distracted.  He  watched  won- 
deringly  the  lines  in  her  face,  the  twisting  creases 
of  her  pale  weeping  mouth,  the  convulsing  contrac- 
tions of  the  chords  in  her  thin  throat. 

He  put  out  a  hand  and  patted  her  shoulder.  The 
tears  streamed  silently  down  her  face.  He  gave 
her  his  handkerchief;  he  was  very  miserable;  he 
was  glad  when  she  blew  her  nose.  That  silent  white 
weeping  was  awful.  And  yet  somehow,  it  didn't 
seem  to  be  hurting  her.  It  was  as  if  it  were  a  relief. 
She  fumbled  for  his  hand  that  was  on  her  shoulder 
and  clutched  his  fingers.  Her  unseeing  eyes  stared 
before  her.  Her  breath  still  came  trembling  from 


238  THE  TORTOISE 

her  thin  bosom.  How  thin  she  was,  how  thin! 
She  looked  as  if  she  was  hollowed  out  inside,  just  a 
brittle  shell.  Jimmy  groaned. 

She  looked  at  him,  startled  by  the  groan. 
'What  was  he  doing  when  you  saw  him?"  she 
asked. 

"  He  was  eating  his  dinner." 

"  What  was  his  dinner?  " 

"  Bully  beef  and  bread  and  cheese  and  beer." 

"  Was  it  good  cheese?  " 

'« Yes,  Stilton." 

"What  kind  of  beer?" 

"  Pale,  I  think,  in  a  mug." 

"  Oh,  a  mug,  what  kind  of  a  mug?  " 

"A  tin  mug." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"  Yes,  I  met  his  corporal  outside,  he  told  me 
where  to  find  him." 

"  What's  he  himself?  " 

"  He  is  a  colour  sergeant." 

"He's  been  promoted  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  she  said. 

Jimmy's  face  flushed  crimson.  He  was  not 
subtle  was  Jimmy,  but  the  pathos  of  her  sigh  of 
pride  reached  him  straight  enough.  He  remem- 
bered William's  triumphs  in  the  old  days. 

"  It's  something  to  rise  from  the  ranks  to  be  a 
sergeant,  isn't  it?  "  she  was  saying. 

"  Rather,"  he  agreed;  "  it's  splendid." 

"Yes,  it's  .splendid." 


THE  TORTOISE  239 

They  looked  at  each  other,  she  caught  her  breath. 
Suddenly  they  both  laughed,  a  little  timidly. 

Jimmy  didn't  know  that  it  was  almost  the  first 
time  she  had  laughed  in  two  years,  but  an  enormous 
relief  welled  up  in  his  heart.  He  did  not  analyze 
the  exultancy  that  grew  in  him  from  that  moment. 
He  just  let  it  grow. 

"  Tell  me  exactly  what  he  looks  like,"  she  de- 
manded giving  a  last  blow  to  her  nose  and  returning 
him  his  handkerchief. 

"  He  looks  like  a  first  class  colour  sergeant." 

"  Only  bigger  than  most,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,  bigger,  oh,  very  big  of  course,  but  thin." 

"Thin?  What  do  you  mean?  William  couldn't 
be  thin."  She  was  greatly  troubled. 

"  Well,  I  mean  thin  for  him.  His  face,  it's  a 
different  shape;  hard  and  a  brownish  colour." 

"  Oh,  dark?  " 

"  Weatherbeaten,  you  know." 

"  You  don't  mean  his  expression  is  hard?  " 

"  No,  I  should  say  his  expression  was  jolly." 

"Jolly?"  she  cried  her  question. 

"  Yes,  he  grinned  when  I  stuck  my  head  in, 
and—" 

"And?" 

"  And  said  —  I  don't  know  if  I  ought  to  tell  you 
what  he  said." 

"  But  you  must." 

"  He  said:  '  Come  in  out  of  my  light  damn  you, 
and  don't  think  I'm  going  to  stand  at  attention.'  ' 

"Oh,  and  what  then?" 


240  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Then  he  gave  me  some  of  his  bread  and  cheese." 

"  I  see,"  she  paused.  "  He  is  happy,"  she  an- 
nounced strangely,  as  if  to  herself. 

And  because  Jimmy  was  not  subtle  he  said: 
"  He's  awfully  fit.  He's  enjoying  himself,  he  loves 
it.  Everything  that  I  hate  is  the  breath  of  life  to 
him." 

"  You  mean  he  enjoys  the  fighting?  " 

"  Yes,  his  captain  told  me  afterwards  that  he  was 
a  terror.  Sees  red.  No  holding  him.  In  a  bay- 
onet charge,  he's  everywhere,  a  wonder.  Gets 
them,  one  after  another,  spinning  on  his  spike." 

"  Oh !  "  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Jimmy  cocked  an  eyebrow  at  her.  He  didn't  know 
what  it  meant,  her  hiding  her  face.  Perhaps  he 
oughtn't  to  have  told  her  that. 

"  He's  got  the  D.  C.  M.  you  know,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly. 

She  lifted  her  face,  flushed  and  excited. 

"Ah,  tell  me.     How  did  he  get  it?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  tell  me.  I  dragged  out  of  him 
something  about  getting  the  fellows  together  dur- 
ing a  scrap,  when  all  the  officers  were  down  and  out." 

"  He  took  command  you  mean?  " 

u  Yes,  of  the  company,  what  was  left  of  it." 

"  He's  seen  hard  fighting  then?  " 

"  The  hardest;  been  in  all  the  nastiest  places." 

"Where?" 

"  In  Belgium,  Ypres  salient,  Loos,  Armentieres, 
Neuve  Chapelle." 

She  clasped  her  hands  round  her  knees. 


THE  TORTOISE  241 

'  They  might  have  made  him  an  officer  after  all 
that,  it  seems  to  me,"  she  brought  out. 

Jimmy  grinned. 

"  It's  the  least  they  could  do,"  she  reiterated  with 
a  show  of  anger.  "  Why  don't  they?  What's  the 
matter  with  them?" 

"  I  rather  think  it's  that  he  doesn't  want  to  be 
made  one." 

"  You  mean  he  refuses?  " 

'  Yes.     Oh,  it's  all  right.     They  leave  him  alone, 
and  that's  what  he  wants." 

She  took  this  in  silence.  Her  face  that  had  grown 
animated,  drooped  again.  She  knit  her  fingers  to- 
gether, straining  them.  Once  she  started  to  speak, 
but  closed  her  lips  over  a  deep  breath. 

It  had  grown  dark  in  the  bare  room.  The  glow 
of  the  red  coals  in  the  stove  showed  them  to  each 
other  dimly.  Outside,  the  wind  had  risen,  and  on 
its  wailing  wings,  the  noises  of  the  war  came  flying 
by.  The  growl  of  the  cannon  had  gained  in  volume. 
The  pulse  of  the  roaring  giant  beat  faster  and  faster. 

"  It  must  be  cold,  up  there,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Beastly  cold  at  night." 

"  How  the  earth  shakes.  I  suppose  the  artillery 
is  preparing  another  attack." 

He  did  not  answer,  for  he  knew,  it  was  useless 
telling  her,  what  awaited  him  at  dawn. 

An  orderly's  voice  told  them  that  an  English  gen- 
eral was  waiting  at  the  gate  for  Monsieur  le  Capi- 
taine. 

They  stood  up  in  the  gloom  of  the  uncertain  shel- 


242  THE  TORTOISE 

ter    of    creaking    boards    and    rattling    windows." 

"  I  must  be  off,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  gate  with  you,"  she  replied. 

Her  nervousness  was  intense.  His  departure 
seemed  to  her  terrible  and  final.  She  had  suddenly 
a  conviction  that  she  would  never  see  him  again  and 
she  was  aware  all  at  once  of  the  wonderful  unself- 
ishness of  his  friendship. 

She  realized  that  he  was  the  one  being  in  the  world 
now  who  provided  a  link  between  her  husband  and 
herself.  His  faithfulness  to  them  both  was  her  one 
hope,  and  for  two  years  her  hope  had  been  centred 
upon  him.  If  anything  happened  to  him,  she  felt 
that  she  would  be  lost. 

They  went  out  into  the  windy  dark,  figures  with 
lanterns  moved  in  the  wide  blackness.  To  the 
West,  red  flashes  were  running  along  the  sky  line. 

She  could  not  let  him  go  without  asking  him  the 
question  that  tortured  her  life.  They  neared  the 
gate. 

"  Jimmy,  if  he  had  spoken  of  me,  you  would  have 
told  me,  wouldn't  you?  " 

His  voice  came  to  her  on  the  wind. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  would  have  told  you." 

A  load  like  a  weight  of  lead  fell  on  her  heart 
that  had  been  almost  glad,  for  an  hour. 

Jimmy  was  going  forever  perhaps  and  nothing 
was  done,  she  was  no  nearer  her  goal.  Her  salva- 
tion was  slipping  away  from  her.  As  those  flashes 
disappeared,  running  into  the  dark,  so  the  gleam  of 
her  hope  would  be  extinguished. 


THE  TORTOISE  243 

"  Jimmy,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  was  never 
unfaithful  to  William,  I  meant  to  be,  I  left  him, 
but  I  did  not  see  the  man  whom  I  went  to  see  in 
Paris.  I  thought  before  then  that  I  loved  him;  I 
found  out  in  Paris,  alone,  that  it  was  all  a  lie.  He 
was  brought  here  wounded,  a  hero,  I  did  not  care, 
I  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  I  had  never  loved 
him.  I  love  William,  I  know  it,  I  swear  it  on  the 
heads  of  every  man  that  is  going  into  battle.  I  am 
waiting  for  him  to  come  back  to  me.  If  ever  again 
you  see  him,  I  want  you  to  tell  him  what  I've  told 
you,  you  must  not  refuse  me." 

They  had  reached  the  gate.  The  guard's  lantern 
lit  up  his  face  with  the  ugly  chin  strap  holding  his 
tin  hat  on  his  poor  funny  round  head.  His  great 
coat  was  buttoned  up  high;  he  had  not  the  slightest 
resemblance  to  the  Jimmy  she  used  to  know.  To 
her,  he  resembled  all  the  other  men  in  the  world 
who  were  going  to  die,  in  the  clamorous  obliterating 
dark  of  the  war. 

He  took  her  hands.  "  I  promise,"  he  said,  "  if 
I  have  a  chance.  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  Jimmy." 

"  Good-bye,  dear."  He  had  always  loved  her; 
he  wanted  her  to  be  happy;  he  left  her  standing  in 
the  mud.  She  saw  him  climb  into  the  car.  It 
moved  with  a  grinding  of  brakes  and  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  dark. 

And  so  Jimmy  went  back  to  the  place  where  a 
laugh  like  his  was  worth  all  of  Lady  Peggy's  won- 
derful pearls,  and  where  the  rough  khaki  figures  in 


244  THE  TORTOISE 

tin  hats  and  monstrous  boots  called  him  "  H'our 
h'own  little  orficer  "  and  followed  his  walking  stick 
over  the  parapet  as  if  it  were  a  fairy  godmother's 
wand.  For  Jimmy  forgot  to  be  scared  when  the 
time  came  to  run  away  next  morning,  and  if  he  felt 
solemn  and  a  little  light  in  the  stomach  as  he  watched 
the  minute  hand  on  his  wrist  watch  near  the  destined 
instant  of  the  dawn  when  they  were  to  go  out  across 
the  open,  he  said  to  himself:  "These  fellows  are 
depending  on  you,  old  man,  you  know,  and  if  you  let 
them  down,  God  won't  help  you."  And  no  one 
knew  that  he  was  afraid  and  those  who  saw  him 
fall,  said  there  was  a  smile  on  his  face  and  that  he 
was  running  forward,  his  arm  lifted. 

He  was  carried  in  to  the  field  ambulance  that  eve- 
ning, very  white  and  very  weak,  and  all  he  said 
was :  "  Keep  me  alive  here  for  two  days,  Doctor, 
I've  got  a  message  to  deliver,  there'll  be  just  time." 

The  thread  of  Jimmy's  life  was  very  thin  now. 
It  was  spinning  itself  out  to  the  end,  but  it  held  to- 
gether two  people  in  the  world  whom  he  loved  the. 
most,  all  the  same. 


VI 


NO  one  had  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  hour 
of  the  night  it  was  that  it  began,  or  of 
where  the  first  bomb  dropped,  or  of  how 
many  bombs  did  actually  burst  in  the  precincts  of 
the  Hospital,  until  it  was  all  over  and  the  sun  had 
risen  on  the  horrid  sight  and  the  Medecin  Chef  had 
taken  stock  of  the  damage.  Four  supply  huts  had 
been  hit  squarely  and  reduced  to  scrap  wood.  Half 
a  dozen  others,  two  of  them  wards  full  of  wounded, 
had  rents  in  them  or  parts  of  roof  torn  off.  The 
block  of  buildings  making  up  the  operating  rooms 
and  receiving  hut,  had  caught  fire  and  by  morning 
were  burned  to  the  ground.  Mrs.  Chudd  had  been 
hit  by  a  bullet  out  in  the  open,  where  with  her  order- 
lies she  had  carried  the  wounded  from  her  burning 
shed. 

The  German  aviator  had  flown  down  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  earth,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
flames  had  turned  his  machine  gun  onto  the  wounded 
men  that  were  spread  helpless  over  the  ground. 
Mrs.  Chudd  leaning  over  a  dying  man  had  been  shot 
through  the  back.  It  was  discovered  in  the  dis- 
pensary where  she  was  eventually  carried  and  put  on 
a  table,  that  beside  this  bullet  wound,  her  hands 
and  ankles  had  been  badly  burnt,  her  clothes  black 
with  smoke  had  large  holes  scorched  in  them.  (She 

245 


246  THE  TORTOISE 

had,  as  her  orderlies  said,  been  in  and  out  of  the 
burning  shed  innumerable  times.)  It  was  evident 
to  Monsieur  Groult  that  she  had  gone  on  carrying 
stretchers  for  an  hour  or  more,  with  her  burnt  hands. 

The  priest,  Remenez,  and  his  band  of  old  men, 
hung  miserably  outside  the  door  of  the  office  where 
their  infirmiere  was  lying  unconscious.  It  was  no 
good  driving  them  away,  they  came  back  like  un- 
happy dogs  to  wait,  with  their  old  shaggy-browed 
eyes  fixed  on  the  door.  This  was  at  sunrise,  long 
after  the  bombing  had  ceased  and  the  wounded  had 
been  housed  again  in  other  undamaged  huts. 

"  She  kept  us  at  it,"  they  muttered.  "  It's  our 
sister  that's  wounded.  God  curse  the  soul  of  that 
German  to  hell.  She  told  us  what  to  do  and  we  did 
it;  she'd  make  a  good  general." 

"  Mother  of  God,  if  you'd  heard  her  calling  out 
through  the  smoke  and  the  noise  of  bombs  bursting, 
you'd  have  obeyed  her.  "  Now  then,"  she  said, 
"  one  stretcher  at  a  time  and  no  pushing.  The  ones 
farthest  from  the  door  first." 

You  see,"  and  an  old  greybeard  wagged  his  head 
wisely,  "  she  knew  that  if  the  roof  fell  the  ones  near 
the  door  could  crawl  out.  And  each  time  she  came 
back  she  went  to  the  farthest  end  and  took  a  stretcher 
with  one  of  us." 

"  Bien  mon  vieux,  she  wouldn't  let  me  do  anything 
but  put  wet  clothes  on  their  faces.  She  gave  me 
a  pail  and  a  bundle  of  rags  and  told  me  to  go  up 
and  down  sousing  'em." 

"  Did  you  see  the  devil?     I  saw  him,  as  clear  as  a 


THE  TORTOISE  247 

spider  in  a  chimney.  He'd  thrown  all  his  bombs. 
He  swooped  down  like  that,  and  turned  his  mitrail- 
leuse on  them.  They  were  lying  there  on  the 
ground.  Where  else  could  we  take 'em?  We'd  no 
time.  We'd  just  got  the  last  ones  out  when  the  roof 
went.  Easy  mark,  he  thought  —  God  —  Boche  — 
and  he  poured  lead  into  them  lying  there  on  their 
backs  looking  up  at  him.  The  sister  was  on  her 
knees  on  the  ground  bandaging,  a  hemorrhage  she 
had  said  —  she  asked  me  to  help,  her  hands  were 
clumsy  she  said,  and  she  fell  forward  on  her  face 
across  the  man  who  was  dying.  I  gave  a  shout  when 
I  saw  her.  The  sister!  I  shouted.  We  picked 
her  up,  she  was  game,  was  our  lady;  she  said: 
"  Don't  take  on,  old  one,  it's  nothing." 

"  We've  worked  with  her  a  long  time  now." 

"  She  worked  just  like  one  of  us." 

"  She  was  never  tired  was  our  sister." 

"  We  called  her  our  lady,  because  she  was  always 
with  us,  and  said  she  belonged  to  us  for  the  war." 

In  the  improvised  operating  room  Monsieur 
Groult  worked  swiftly.  Now  and  then  he  spoke, 
he  who  was  always  so  silent  and  serene,  and  now  and 
then  he  gave  a  sharp  exclamation  of  pity. 

"  My  God,  look  at  these  hands,  there  is  no  flesh 
left  on  their  palms." 

"  The  ankles  are  not  so  bad." 

"  Gently,  Mademoiselle,  we  must  lay  her  on  her 
face." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  helped  him  turn  the 
white  body,  tears  streaming  down  her  face. 


248  THE  TORTOISE 

"  The  bullet  has  not,  I  believe,  touched  the  spine. 
Back  again.  Lay  her  on  her  back.  There  it  is,  I 
can  feel  it,  under  the  breast.  Impossible  to  operate 
here.  The  X-ray  is  destroyed.  She  must  be  rested, 
and  stimulated  and  taken  into  Amiens,  I  will  op- 
erate tomorrow. 

The  news  spread  through  the  Hospital  that 
Madame  Chudd  was  being  evacuated  by  ambulance 
to  the  base.  The  Medecin  Chef  was  heard  shouting 
over  the  telephone  to  the  Inspector  General : 

"  An  infirmiere  seriously  wounded.  Monsieur 
Groult  asks  that  a  bed  be  prepared  in  Stationary 
Hospital  No.  10.  She  will  be  accompanied  by  a 
nurse  and  doctor.  Monsieur  Groult  assumes  respon- 
sibility. Impossible  to  operate  here.  I  am  waiting 
for  that  sanitary  train  I  asked  for.  Shall  evacuate 
all  wounded.  Those  who  cannot  go  by  train,  in 
ambulances.  Morale  of  patients  fairly  good. 
Eleven  deaths  among  wounded.  Six  orderlies  in- 
jured. No  casualties  among  officers." 

In  the  officer's  ward  the  Princess  looking  as  if 
she  had  been  saved  from  a  wreck  at  sea  sat  beside 
her  son's  bed.  One  of  the  nurse's  old  blue  cloaks 
was  buttoned  up  under  her  chin.  Her  face  was  livid 
with  fatigue,  her  white  hair  hung  down  in  wisps 
under  the  black  handkerchief  she  had  wound  hastily 
round  her  head.  Her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  crossed 
on  her  stick,  she  listened  to  the  officers  in  their  beds, 
talking  excitedly. 

"  It  appears  there  were  thirteen  bombs." 


THE  TORTOISE  249 

'  This  is  how  the  Germans  avenge  themselves  for 
losing  a  battle." 

An  aviator  with  his  leg  in  plaster  was  beside  him- 
self with  excitement. 

"  Name  of  God,  if  I  don't  show  those  devils  some- 
thing when  I  get  out  of  this  bed." 

"  Nothing  is  bad  enough  for  the  swine." 

"  All  the  same  it  wasn't  very  gay  here,  lying  tied 
to  one's  bed." 

"Sapristi;  I  thought  we  were  done  for  at  one 
time ;  didn't  you  ?  When  all  those  stones  and  lumps 
rattled  on  the  roof?" 

'  The  orderly  was  saying  his  prayers  under  the 
table,  did  you  see  him?  " 

Suzanne  de  St.  Germain,  the  nurse,  moved  briskly 
about  straightening  bed  clothes.  Her  face  was 
pale,  her  cap  awry,  but  she  laughed  cheerfully.  She 
had  not  left  the  ward  all  night. 

"  I  said  a  few  prayers  myself,"  she  remarked. 

"  Ah  Madame,  you  were  epatante,"  they  cried  in 
chorus. 

The  Princess  heard  some  one  talking  at  the  other 
door  of  the  ward.  She  caught  the  words: 
"  Madame  Chudd  shot  through  the  back."  She 
made  a  gesture  with  her  cane  to  silence  the  speakers. 
Too  late,  Jocelyn  had  started  up  on  his  pillow. 

"  What's  that?     What's  that?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear;  nothing." 

"  But  I  heard  them,  I  heard  Madame  Chudd's 
name.  What  is  it?  I  say — " 


250  THE  TORTOISE 

The  Princess  laid  a  strong  hand  on  his  shoulder 
forcing  him  down  on  his  pillow. 

'  Your  friend  has  been  wounded,"  she  said  grimly. 
"  Keep  quiet  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"Good  God,  wounded!  How?  When?  —  But 
I  thought  you  said,  she  took  you  down  into  the  dug 
out?" 

"  So  she  did." 

"And  stayed  there?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  she  stayed  there.  She  left  me 
almost  at  once,  and  said  she  would  come  back  when 
the  danger  was  over.  Your  sister  went  with  her. 
It  was  Yvonne  that  came  back  to  get  me.  Yvonne 
said  that  Madame  Chudd  had  told  her  if  she  wanted 
to  be  useful  to  go  into  one  of  the  wards  and  keep  the 
men  quiet,  so  she  went.  Yvonne  didn't  see  her 
again.  She  stayed  in  the  ward,  I  don't  know  which 
one,  till  it  began  to  get  light,  then  she  came  to  see 
how  I  was.  I  was  all  right,  I  had  plenty  of  com- 
pany. They  brought  wounded  down  there  as  many 
as  it  would  hold." 

"  Yes,  yes;  it  must  have  been  trying  for  you;  but 
what  about  Helene?  " 

"  It  seems  she  was  wounded  outside,  by  a  machine 
gun  bullet.  They  all  say,  she  behaved  very  well, 
quite  extraordinarily  well.  Yvonne  said  she  could 
see  the  flames  from  the  window." 

"What  flames?" 

"  The  hut,  what  is  it,  it's  called  the  '  salle  d'at- 
tente,'  caught  on  fire.  It  seems  it  was  Madame 
Chudd's  hut,  her  service." 


THE  TORTOISE  251 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  She  got  out  all  the  wounded  before  the  roof  fell 
in." 

"Ah!" 

"  As  I  have  told  you,  she  behaved  with  great  cour- 
age." 

"  But  how  is  she?     Is  it  serious?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  must  find  out." 

"I  can't  bother  them  now;  we  must  just  wait. 
No  one  wants  an  old  woman  fussing  around  at  such 
a  time."  The  Princess's  voice  quavered.  "  I 
could  do  nothing,"  she  muttered  bitterly,  "  I  and  my 
stick,  nothing  but  give  a  few  drinks  down  there  in 
that  hole  and  tell  them  stories.  I'm  too  old  to 
be  any  use.  I  stayed  down  there  to  be  out  of  the 
way." 

"  Dear  mother,  I  know  you're  as  brave  as  any  of 
them." 

"  Brave?  I  don't  know  about  that;  I  was  fright- 
ened enough  at  first,  when  half  the  window  and  most 
of  the  shelves  fell  on  me  in  bed;  I  couldn't  move." 

"  Then  how  did  you  get  out?  " 

"  She  appeared  suddenly,  swept  the  debris  on  to 
the  floor,  pulled  me  out  of  bed,  put  my  coat  on  me 
and  said  to  me  as  if  I'd  been  a  bad  child:  "  Come 
along  quick,  I've  no  time  to  waste." 

"Helen?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  mother?" 

They  looked  at  each  other.     "  Well,"  she  said 


252  THE  TORTOISE 

grimly,  "  there  you  are,  I  was  mistaken ;  I  admit  my 
mistake." 

The  Medecin  Chef  came  in  then  with  the  corps 
Commander.  The  officers  were  all  to  go  off  that 
morning.  Monsieur  Groult  was  too  busy  to  come, 
but  had  sent  word  that  it  was  safe  for  Monsieur  de 
St.  Christe  to  go  on  the  train  to  Paris. 

It  was  by  then  seven  o'clock.  Their  infirmiere 
had  prepared  hot  coffee  for  them  all.  The  General 
and  the  Princess  and  the  Medecin  Chef  drank  to- 
gether out  of  tin  cups.  Everyone  was  conscious  of 
the  pleasantness  of  being  alive.  The  General  con- 
gratulated the  ward  on  its  excellent  morale.  He 
drank  to  the  health  of  the  Princess  who  though  not 
a  soldier  and  no  longer  young,  had  stood  the  ordeal 
of  the  dreadful  night  with  such  courage  and  sang- 
froid. He  hoped  that  the  cowardly  villain  who  had 
committed  the  dastardly  crime  would  meet  with  his 
deserts. 

He  regretted  deeply  the  terrible  misfortune  that 
had  befallen  one  of  the  brave  women  who  had  de- 
voted themselves  to  the  wounded.  He  must  leave 
them  now  to  give  Madame  Chudd  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  that  she  deserved  as  much  as  any  soldier  in 
the  French  Army. 

"Hear,  hear!" 

"  We'll  avenge  her!  "  cried  the  officers  from  their 
pillows. 

Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  lay  very  still  in  his  bed,  his 
eyes  closed. 

Helen  had  regained  consciousness  when  the  Med- 


THE  TORTOISE  253 

ecin  Chef  ushered  the  General  into  the  pharmacy. 
She  lay  on  the  table,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  on  which 
rested  her  bandaged  hands.  Her  face  was  white  as 
wax.  One  of  her  long  golden  braids  dangled  down 
to  the  floor.  She  opened  her  eyes  at  the  entrance 
of  the  General.  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  lean- 
ing down  spoke  to  her  softly,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  understand.  The  General  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  table  on  which  she  was  lying.  He  drew  his 
sword  from  its  scabbard  and  saluted  the  prostrate 
woman.  "  In  the  name  of  the  Commander-in-Chief 
of  the  Allied  Armies  and  on  behalf  of  the  officers  and 
soldiers  of  France,  I  decorate  you  with  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  in  testimony  of  the  great  bravery  and 
devotion  you  have  shown  always,  and  especially 
this  night  to  the  poilus  of  France."  The  great 
soldier's  voice  faltered;  he  sheathed  his  sword 
and  coming  nearer  pinned  the  bronze  medal  with  its 
green  ribbon  on  the  grey  blanket.  Then  he  kissed 
the  white  forehead,  and  went  out.  Helen  looked 
from  one  to  another.  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont 
was  there  and  Monsieur  Groult,  and  beyond  the 
door  she  saw  for  a  moment  a  group  of  shaggy 
heads,  but  she  seemed  to  be  looking  for  some  one 
who  was  not  there. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  murmured  "  I  am 
very  tired.  I  wish  William  would  come."  She 
closed  her  eyes. 

At  noon  they  took  her  away  in  an  ambulance. 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  and  a  doctor  went  with 
her.  All  the  nurses  were  at  the  gate  to  watch  her 


254  THE  TORTOISE 

go,  but  she  did  not  know  they  were  there  to  wave 
good-bye. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  that  an  English  soldier  came  in  at  the  gate  and 
asked  if. there  was  a  nurse  there  named  Madame 
Chudd.  He  was  a  big  man  and  he  seemed  to  have 
walked  a  long  way  for  he  was  covered  with  mud. 

The  sentry  at  the  gate  didn't  understand  what  he 
was  saying  and  pointed  to  the  Medecin  Chef's  office. 

"Eh,  what?  An  English  sergeant?  I've  no 
time  to  talk  to  him.  What  does  he  want?  Ask- 
ing for  Madame  Chudd,  is  he?  Tell  him  she's 
gone."  The  Medecin  Chef  bent  again  over  his 
desk. 

The  administration  officer  went  out  into  the  wind, 
where  the  soldier  was  waiting.  It  had  begun  to 
rain. 

"  Madame  Chudd  has  gone,"  he  announced 
abruptly. 

The  man  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"Gone?"  he  echoed. 

'Yes,  gone;  I  say;  she  was  evacuated  at  noon. 
We  had  a  raid  last  night.  She  was  wounded." 

"Wounded?" 

"  Yes,  wounded." 

The  Englishman  lurched  forward. 

"How  wounded?" 

"  In  the  back,  machine  bullet." 

"Dead,  you  mean?     Dead?" 

"  No,  not  dead,  I  tell  you,  evacuated." 

The  great  rough    figure    in    its    muddy    clothes 


THE  TORTOISE  255 

stood  hanging  forward  as  if  it  were  going  to  fall. 
The  head  was  bent.  The  man  seemed  stunned,  or 
perhaps  only  very  stupid  and  tired.  When  he 
lifted  his  head  and  spoke  at  last,  it  was  in  a  kind  of 
dull  apology. 

"  I  am  a  relative  of  Madame  Chudd's,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  I  should  be  grateful  to  you  if  you  would 
tell  me  where  she  has  gone." 

"  Stationary  hospital,  No.  9,  Amiens." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  administration  officer  who  was  a  small  man 
but  very  dapper  looked  over  the  muddy  giant  coldly, 
from  the  top  of  the  wooden  steps,  then  went  into  the 
hut,  and  slammed  the  door. 

The  soldier  stood  a  while  in  the  rain  staring  at 
the  closed  door,  then  turned  and  made  for  the  gate 
with  long  heavy  steps.  It  was  growing  dark  as  he 
turned  off  up  the  road  toward  the  British  lines. 


VII 


LADY  SIDLINGTON  had  found  it  not  quite 
so  easy  to  deal  with  soldiers  in  the  war  zone 
as  it  had  been  to  deal  with  politicians  in 
England.  Statesmen  in  her  experience  had  liked  to 
have  their  work  interfered  with.  Soldiers  did  not. 
Generals  were  stern  beings  who  did  not  encourage 
visits  to  their  headquarters.  She  forgave  them, 
and  protested  that  even  though  they  made  the  mis- 
take of  not  taking  her  seriously,  she  did  so  take  them. 
It  had  been  a  disappointment  to  her,  to  find  that 
she  was  allowed  to  suffer  no  hardship  or  discom- 
fort or  danger.  She  had  settled  her  staff  in  a  hotel 
and  herself  next  door  to  it  in  a  villa  by  the  sea. 
This  was  not  at  all  what  she  had  expected  to  find  at 
the  war.  Her  camp  bed  and  woollen  pyjamas  were 
useless,  and  it  seemed  to  her  for  a  time  that  she 
herself  was  more  so  than  anyone,  but  she  had  ended 
by  settling  down  to  it.  There  was  after  all  plenty 
of  work  to  do  and  all  the  men  in  the  world  came  to 
drink  tea  and  console  her.  Even  the  Generals  were 
kind  to  her,  so  long  as  she  and  her  motor  kept 
within  the  limits  their  Provost  Marshal  had  set 
her.  Being  near  an  important  base,  had  too,  its 
advantages.  The  very  nicest  man  in  the  world 
who  by  now  was  commanding  a  Division  was  able 
to  come  there  once  in  a  while. 

256 


THE  TORTOISE  257 

He  was  actually  sitting  in  the  drawing  room  of 
the  villa,  eating  poached  eggs  on  toast  and  drinking 
tea  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  looking  quite 
dreadfully  tired,  having  come  out  of  the  line  only 
ten  days  before  after  a  fortnight  of  the  very 
worst,  when  she  was  handed  the  telegram  from 
Amiens.  It  said  that  Madame  Chudd  was  seriously 
wounded  in  Stationary  Hospital  No.  9,  Amiens 
and  desired  her  presence,  and  it  was  signed  Med- 
ecin  Chef. 

Peggy  Sidlington   turned  white. 

"  I  must  go  at  once." 

The  nicest  man  in  the  world  said: 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  and  looked  wistful. 

"  You  must  go  and  get  me  a  motor  pass  while  I 
pack." 

The  nicest  man  who  was  really  very  tired,  said: 
"  Right  ho !  "  and  looked  bored. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  me  sit  here  with  you  when 
Helen  may  be  dying,  would  you?" 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  Then  don't  look  like  that." 

"  I'm  sorry,  I  didn't  mean  to." 

"  That's  a  darling.  A  blue  pass  to  Amiens, 
shortest  route.  I'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour." 

"  But  you  can't  get  there  to-night;  it'll  be  dark  in 
another  hour." 

Peggy's  eyes  widened  from  the  doorway. 

"  Have  you  never  motored  in  the  dark?  " 

The  divisional  general  smiled: 

"  Well,  yes,  I  have  once  or  twice." 


258  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Then  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't,"  and  she  left 
him. 

The  man  adored  her.  Humbly  he  came  back 
with  the  pass  in  forty  minutes.  She  was  waiting 
for  him  on  the  steps  of  the  villa,  giving  final  in- 
structions to  Mary  Bridge  and  the  surgeons  and  the 
matron.  He  tucked  the  rugs  round  her  feet  and 
leaned  a  moment  on  the  door  of  the  car.  His  eyes 
were  faithful  and  humble  and  rather  sad.  He  was 
wondering  whether  if  he  lived  through  the  fighting 
she  wouldn't  some  day  break  his  heart  and  whether 
actually,  he  was  ever  going  to  see  her  again. 

"  I  go  back  to-morrow,  you  know,  Peggy;  I  only 
had  twenty  four  hours." 

"  Poor  Bumps!  "  He  was  not  known  in  his  di- 
vision as  Bumps.  "  I  hate  leaving  you,  but  I  know 
what  Helen  would  do  for  me  if  I  was  in  trouble, 
and  it's  not  as  if  she  had  any  one  else." 

The  man's  face  lightened.  Perhaps  he  might 
live.  Possibly  she  wouldn't  break  his  heart. 

"  Good-bye,  dear." 

"  Good-bye." 

The  motor  with  the  red  crosses  on  its  doors  and 
the  pretty  lady  inside  and  the  big  police  dog  out- 
side, whirled  away. 

She  arrived  at  Amiens  at  midnight.  It  took  her 
an  hour  to  find  the  hospital.  She  went  to  several 
others  by  mistake.  A  number  of  soldiers  with  lan- 
terns showed  her  the  way  out  of  one  dismal  street 
into  another.  At  last,  a  heavy  eyed  orderly  in  a 
stifling  office  told  her  that  she  had  arrived  at  her 


THE  TORTOISE  259 

destination  and  that  he  would  see  if  the  Medecin  de 
garde  could  be  disturbed.  A  large  woman  with  a 
pale  crooked  face  and  clumsy  feet  came  down  the 
long  corridor  and  greeted  her  with  a  singularly 
sweet  smile. 

"Are  you  the  Countess  of  Sidlington?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Madame  Chudd  is  sleeping.  She  was  operated 
upon  yesterday." 

"  Is  she  in  danger?  " 

"  I  believe  not,  but  we  are  not  sure  of  the  left 
lung." 

Peggy  Sidlington's  face  quivered. 

"  Poor  Helen,  poor,  poor  Helen !  "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me  I  will  tell  you,  while 
you  eat  something.  I  will  make  chocolate  or  bouil- 
lon. Then  you  must  sleep.  There  is  a  couch  in 
the  major's  office.  To-morrow  we  will  find  you  a 
room.  Your  friend  will  be  so  happy  to  have  one 
of  her  own  with  her.  I  do  not  know  her  family,  I 
did  not  know  whom  to  write  to;  you  will  be  able  to 
do  that  now;  I  am  very  relieved,  very  glad.  It  has 
been  a  great  responsibility  for  us.  She  seemed  so 
isolated,  so  solitary.  She  spoke  of  no  one.  Her 
mother?  Her  father?  Her  husband  perhaps? 
I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  My  name  is  Henriette 
de  Vaumont.  I  was  in  the  hospital  with  your 
friend.  I  love  her;  I  owe  her  a  great  deal.  She 
is  the  bravest  person  I  have  ever  known." 

The   Frenchwoman  led  the  way  down  the   dim 


260  THE  TORTOISE 

stone  flagged  corridor  and  opened  a  door,  bearing 
an  enamelled  plate  with  the  words:  Medecin  Major 
— K Bureau. 

"  We  are  visitors  here,"  she  said.  "  The  as- 
sistant surgeon  has  given  me  his  rooms.  Every 
hospital  in  Amiens  is  full  of  wounded.  It  was  im- 
possible to  put  your  friend  in  a  ward  full  of  men." 

On  a  table  was  a  shaded  lamp,  a  tray  with  plates, 
cups  and  saucers.  An  open  door  led  to  an  inner 
room. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  her?  Be  very  quiet; 
she  must  not  be  disturbed,  sleep  is  precious  for  her 
now." 

A  night  light  was  burning  beside  the  narrow  bed. 
Helen  was  breathing  peacefully.  Her  arms  end- 
ing in  two  great  gloves  of  cotton  wool,  lay  on  the 
coverlet.  Her  face  was  an  ivory  mask. 

The  two  women  stood  together  looking  down  on 
her,  in  silence.  As  they  watched,  the  pale  blueish 
lips  moved,  and  a  faint  sound,  more  like  a  sigh 
than  a  groan  issued  from  the  still  body. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  laid  her  fingers  on 
the  arm  above  the  bandaged  hand,  and  nodded  her 
head  satisfied. 

"  Her  pulse  is  good,"  she  whispered. 

Lady  Sidlington's  face  was  wet  with  tears  when 
she  turned  back  to  the  outer  room. 

"  Tell  me,  everything,"  she  said. 

And  Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  told  her.  When 
her  story  was  ended,  she  paused.  "  I  believe,"  she 
said  timidly,  "  that  she  wanted  to  write  —  a  note, 


THE  TORTOISE  261 

before  the  operation.  But  she  could  not  use  her 
hands.  There  seemed  to  be  something  grievous 
on  her  mind.  At  the  very  last,  in  the  operating 
room,  just  before  they  gave  her  the  anaesthetic,  she 
motioned  to  me  to  lean  down  to  her  and  whispered: 
'If  I  do  not  come  back,  say  to  Lady  Sidlington 
that  she  must  tell  William  I  was  thinking  of  him 
"  all  the  time."  Then  she  let  them  put  the  ether 
masque  on  her  face." 

"  William  is  her  husband,"  said  Lady  Sidling- 
ton. 

"  Ah,  I  see,  I  understand." 

It  was  three  days  later  that  a  letter  for  Madame 
Chudd  was  brought  to  the  Hospital  from  the  office 
of  the  A.  P.  M.  of  the  British  troops  in  Amiens. 
Lady  Sidlington  recognising  the  handwriting  was 
frightened.  Helen  was  still  very  weak.  She 
seemed  to  be  sleeping  when  Lady  Sidlington  en- 
tered, but  she  said  without  opening  her  eyes: 

"Is  that  you,  Peggy?" 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  have  a  letter  for  you." 

"  A  letter?  " 

"  Yes,  look."  "  Happiness  never  yet  killed  any 
one,"  Peggy  said  to  herself  in  a  panic,  holding  the 
envelope  before  the  helpless  woman's  eyes.  But 
the  sudden  light  on  the  pale  face  was  too  much  for 
her.  She  felt  the  two  incapable  bandaged  hands 
fold  over  the  little  square  of  paper,  and  turning 
abruptly,  left  the  room.  "  There  are  some  things, 
one  has  no  right  to  look  at,"  she  muttered  blowing 
her  nose  beyond  the  door. 


262  THE  TORTOISE 

A  few  moments  later  a  voice  called  her. 

"Peggy  I" 

"Yes?" 

"Come  back!" 

She  obeyed.  The  letter  was  still  lying  against 
the  thin  breast  under  the  crossed,  bandaged  hands. 

"  I  can't  open  it,  you'll  have  to.  There,  hold  it 
for  me  to  read." 

Peggy  held  the  sheet  of  paper,  her  eyes  averted. 
She  remembered  William  and  Helen  together,  as 
they  used  to  be  in  the  old  days.  "  God  help  them, 
and  bring  them  home  together,"  she  breathed. 

"  Jimmy  is  dead,"  she  heard  Helen  say. 

Peggy  dropped  to  her  knees. 

"Jimmy!     Not  Jimmy,"  she  echoed. 

"  Yes,  Jimmy.  He  sent  for  William  before  he 
died,  William  says.  He  died  like  a  gallant  gentle- 
man and  a  true  friend.  He  sent  for  William  to 
give  him  my  message." 

"  And  William?     Where  is  he?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  seems  he  walked  over  to  the 
hospital  the  day  I  was  wounded,  and  was  told  I  had 
gone." 

"Is  he  coming  here?" 

"  If  he  can,  but  his  battalion  goes  into  the  line 
to-morrow,  that  is  to-day,  for  eight  days." 

"  Only  another  eight  days  to  wait,  dear." 

"  Yes,  if  — " 

"  And  you  know  now  that  he  knows." 

"  Yes,  he  knows,  because  Jimmy  told  him  before 
he  died." 


THE  TORTOISE  263 

"  Poor  Jimmy!     Poor  Jimmy!  " 

'  We'll  never  hear  him  laugh  again." 

"  And  never  see  his  kind  baby  face." 

"  Do  you  remember  his  white  spats  and  red  car- 
nation? " 

"  He  loved  William,  I  knew  he  would  save  us." 

"  He  loved  you  both." 

"  William  walked  to  the  hospital,  to  find  I  was 
gone.  Perhaps  they  didn't  know  who  he  was. 
Perhaps  they  turned  him  away.  He  must  have 
been  tired  and  hungry.  Perhaps  they  gave  him  tea. 
I  wonder  where  he  is  now.  May  be  —  May  be  — 
If  he  were  —  If  anything  happened  now " 

"  Nothing  will  happen,  darling." 

"  But  it  does,  always,  every  one  is  killed,  sooner 
or  later.  Who  would  have  thought  Jimmy?  All 
the  finest  are  killed,  you  know  that." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Peggy." 

"Helen!  .  .  ." 

"  We're  helpless,  we  can't  do  anything." 

"  We  can't  even  pray." 

They  clung  to  one  another. 

After  a  long  silence,  Helen  said: 

"  Jimmy  saved  me  in  Paris  two  years  ago." 

"Saved  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  was  going  out  of  my  mind.  He  found 
me  on  the  street,  very  early  one  morning.  He 
took  me  into  his  car ;  I  would  have  —  I  don't  know 
what  would  have  happened." 

"You  were  so  unhappy?" 


264  THE  TORTOISE 

"  Yes,  I  must  have  been,  because  I  nearly  went 
mad.  Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  had  thrown  me  over." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  had  gone  to  meet  him,  he  refused  to  see  me. 
It  all  seems  very  unreal  now,  but  I've  been  paying 
for  it  ever  since.  I  wonder  if  I  have  paid  enough, 
I  wonder  if  William  can  —  ever  feel  the  same. 
His  letter  is  kind,  but  I  am  not  sure.  Can  I  ever 
undo  what  I  have  done,  do  you  think?  " 

"  When  he  sees  you  as  you  are  now  — " 

"  Ah,  but  it  won't  be  enough  for  him  to  be  just 
sorry  for  me,  it  won't  be  enough  for  him,  I  mean,  I 
am  thinking  of  the  future,  if  the  war  ever  ends  — " 

"  Trust  him." 

"  I  do,  but  I  have  no  right  to." 

"  Jimmy  thought  so." 

"  But  Jimmy  never  did  any  man  or  woman  the 
slightest  harm." 

That  afternoon  a  motor  ambulance  came  to  take 
Mademoiselle  de  Vaumont  back  to  the  hospital 
Helen  whispered  to  her,  as  she  leaned  over  to  kiss 
her  good-bye : 

"  I  have  heard  from  my  husband,  for  the  first 
time  in  two  years.  He  is  coming  to  see  me,  in  eight 
days;  I  am  so  happy." 

But  when  the  eight  days  were  up,  he  didn't  come. 
The  ninth  day  and  the  tenth  day,  they  waited  full 
of  hope.  They  would  start  at  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps in  the  corridor,  Peggy  would  go  to  the  door 
and  look.  No  one  came.  Twelve  days  passed, 
thirteen  days,  fourteen  days,  he  didn't  come. 


THE  TORTOISE  265 

Helen  did  not  speak  of  him  any  more.  Her  eyes 
looked  like  the  eyes  of  a  hunted  animal  caught  in 
a  trap.  Peggy  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  paid 
a  visit  to  the  A.  P.  M.  Telephones  carried  along 
the  British  zone  the  request  for  news  of  William  B. 
Chudd,  Sergeant  Major,  5th  Battallion  of  the  — 
—  The  reply  came  from  Army  headquarters:  "  Re- 
ported missing."  Peggy  white  to  the  lips  told  the 
truth. 

"  We  need  not  wait  here  any  longer,"  was  all 
that  Helen  said. 

Monsieur  Groult  arranged  for  them  to  go  to 
Paris.  In  another  month,  he  would  come  to  see 
them  there.  He  advised  the  South  of  France. 
The  lung  had  been  grazed.  There  would  be  a 
weakness  there  for  a  long  time. 

Peggy  said  in  Paris:  "I  shall  not  leave  you; 
Mary  Bridge  will  run  my  show." 

"But  Peggy-" 

"  Am  I  your  friend  or  am  I  not?  " 

"  You  are  indeed." 

"  Then  there's  no  more  to  be  said." 

They  had  become,  both  of  them,  stoical  women 
of  few  words.  Distraction  was  no  antidote  for 
Helen  now;  they  did  not  try  to  deceive  each 
other. 

A  week  had  gone  by  in  Paris  when  the  news 
came  that  William  Chudd  was  a  prisoner  of  war. 

And  then  it  was  Peggy  that  broke  down. 

Helen  simply  began  to  breathe  again.  "  I  can 
wait,"  she  said.  "  He  is  alive,  he  will  come  back." 


PART  FIVE 


PART  V 


THE  war  was  over,  the  armistice  had  been 
signed,  Paris  had  been  celebrating  for  a 
fortnight.  The  captured  German  guns 
massed  round  the  Place  de  le  Concorde  looked  al- 
ready like  relics  of  a  past  age.  From  the  coast  of 
Belgium  to  the  Adriatic  Sea,  men  had  stopped  kill- 
ing one  another.  At  eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  the  nth  of  November,  they  had  stopped.  On 
the  tick  of  the  clock,  the  advancing  armies  of 
France,  of  Great  Britain,  of  America  and  of  Italy, 
had  been  pulled  up  and  brought  to  a  stand  still. 
The  guns  were  silenced.  The  ruined  earth  lay 
serene  and  horrible,  testifying  mutely  to  the  Hea- 
vens. 

Alsace  Lorraine  was  in  gala  attire.  Marshal 
Foch  had  made  a  triumphal  entry  into  the  city  of 
Strasbourg  and  had  reviewed  the  soldiers  of  France 
before  the  Palace  of  the  Kaiser,  and,  a  mile  away, 
from  the  other  side  of  a  dismal  river,  a  strange  pro- 
cession was  moving  along  the  road.  They  came  on 
foot  across  the  Bridge  of  Kiel,  starving  men,  in 
strange  rags,  with  hollow  cheeks,  and  haunted 
feverish  eyes.  And  they  penetrated  like  ghosts  in- 
to the  throng  of  merry  makers.  They  were  pris- 
oners of  war  coming  home.  There  was  no  one  to 
meet  them  and  no  one  to  show  them  the  way.  Step- 

269 


270  THE  TORTOISE 

ping  onto  the  soil  of  France  they  did  not  seem  to 
know  where  they  were.  Strange  homecoming  for 
innocent  men  who  had  been  in  prison  for  so  long. 
They  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten;  no  one  recog- 
nized them.  Freedom  appeared  before  them 
shrouded  in  bewilderment  and  weariness.  Some 
of  them  were  British;  they  had  still  a  long  way  to 
go.  They  moved  on  doggedly.  Their  walking 
was  not  so  very  different  from  the  marching  they 
had  done  in  a  distant  time  when  they  were  going 
up  to  the  trenches,  but  it  was  feebler.  They  vacil- 
lated on  the  long  crowded  way.  There  was  no  one 
to  command  them  or  guide  them.  They  were 
guided  only  by  a  desperate  longing  that  seemed  to 
elude  them  on  the  very  threshold  of  its  fulfilment. 
They  did  not  look  like  heroes.  No  one  crowned 
them  with  flowers  or  lifted  them  up  on  acclaiming 
arms.  They  were  covered  with  dust  and  very  much 
fatigued,  yet  they  were  heroes. 

Three  days  later  in  Paris,  in  the  lounge  of  the 
Ritz  Hotel  a  British  general  with  an  empty  sleeve, 
tucked  up  neatly  over  the  stump  of  his  arm,  was 
talking  to  a  silvery  headed  diplomat  with  a  rosy 
face  —  the  diplomat  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  and 
sipping  a  glass  of  Cognac  and  saying: 

'  You  soldiers  have  won  the  war.     Now  it's  our 
turn  —  you're  not  needed  any  more." 

The  general  did  not  reply  —  he  knew  it  was  true, 
and  he  was  wondering  what  he  would  do  now.  He 
was  forty-five  years  old.  He  had  lost  his  right 
arm.  He  was  very  tired.  War  had  left  marks 


THE  TORTOISE  271 

upon  his  face.  The  shadow  of  a  deep  eternal  hor- 
ror was  in  his  eyes. 

He  had  come  to  Paris  to  find  out  whether  Lady 
Peggy  still  thought  him  the  nicest  man  in  the  world. 
If  she  did,  he  would  be  able  to  face  the  problem  of 
a  future  without  an  occupation.  She  had  told  him 
she  would  dine  with  him  at  the  Ritz,  and  he  had  ex- 
pected to  find  her  alone,  but  her  flower-like  face 
with  its  shining  blue  eyes  smiled  at  him  sweetly 
from  the  center  of  a  group  of  diplomats  and  poli- 
ticians. They  were  a  merry  party.  They  had 
talked  wittily  of  the  dangers  of  peace  and  eaten  ex- 
pensive foods  with  an  indifferent  greediness  that 
had  left  him  gaping. 

Peace !  He  thought  of  it  as  it  had  appeared  to 
them  all  out  there  in  the  seething  mud  of  battle- 
fields, a  being  of  supreme  beauty  and  simplicity, 
bringing  healing  and  quiet  and  repose  and  relief 
from  fear.  With  what  unutterable  longing  they 
had  fought  for  it.  How  many  thousands  of  them 
had  died  for  it.  He  looked  wearily  round  the 
crowded  dining  room.  Women  with  bare  should- 
ers and  impudent  eyes  stared  at  him  curiously,  scrut- 
inizing languidly  the  coloured  ribbon  on  his  coat 
and  the  empty  socket  of  his  sleeve.  The  chatter- 
ing of  many  voices  rattled  in  his  ears. 

"  Believe  me,  old  chap,"  said  one  of  Pegg/s 
guests  to  another,  "  the  Germans  won't  sign  the  kind 
of  peace  we  want.  They  don't  think  they're  beaten. 
If  we  had  pushed  on  with  that  last  attack  in  Alsace 
—  but  as  it  is  —  we've  gained  nothing." 


272  THE  TORTOISE 

He  groaned  —  his  head  swam  —  he  felt  ob- 
scurely that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  monstrous  de- 
ception. 

Beyond  the  many  shining  heads  and  white  shoul- 
ders, past  the  pink  and  red  and  congested  grimacing 
faces,  he  saw  out  in  the  dark  a  black  field  with  in- 
numerable wooden  crosses  sticking  up  out  of  the 
ground. 

Peggy's  favourite  politician  was  picking  his  teeth 
and  saying: 

"  Yes,  that  poor  fellow  Jim  Gower  was  killed 
in  1916." 

But  a  gay  voice  broke  in  at  another  table. 

"  How  amusing  it  will  be,  if  the  conference 
is  in  Paris.  Everyone  in  the  world  will  be 
here." 

And  some  one  else. 

"  Yes,  labour  is  going  to  be  a  great  nuisance.  I 
don't  know  what  the  country  is  coming  to.  Capi- 
tal, my  dear  man,  Capital  can  never  survive  Ruin 
—  it's  Ruin  —  the  P.  M.  is  too  soft  with  these 
chaps." 

They  filed  out  of  the  dining  room  —  a  very 
handsome  French  officer  in  a  sky  blue  tunic,  ap- 
proached Lady  Sidlington. 

"  Bonjour,  Madame." 

11  Bonjour." 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  for  news  of 
Madame  Chudd?  Is  she  well?  Quite  recovered? 
My  mother  often  asks  — " 

"  Quite  well,    thank   you."     Peggy's    voice    was 


THE  TORTOISE  273 

cool  and  sweet  and  chilling.     "  She  is  here  with  me." 

"Here?"  The  handsome  officer  looked  about 
him. 

"  Staying  here,  I  mean;  she  has  gone  to  meet  her 
husband  at  Nancy — " 

11  Ah,  I  see." 

"He  was  evacuated  there,  from  Germany." 

"  From  Germany?  Ah  yes,  I  have  heard,  he 
was  a  prisoner." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Present,  I  beg  you,  my  hommages  to  Madame 
Chudd." 

"  I  will  do  so." 

"  Good-evening,  Madame." 

"  Good-evening." 

The  Frenchman  moved  away.  He  was  seen  to 
join  a  group  of  men  round  a  red  haired  woman  in 
black. 

"Who  is  your  handsome   friend,  Peggy?" 

"  The  Comte  de  St.  Christe." 

"  What  a  lot  of  medals  he  has!  "  Three  palms 
to  his  Croix  de  Guerre." 

"  I  don't  know,  has  he,  he's  not  very  interesting." 

"  So  William  Chudd  is  coming  home  at  last," 
said  the  nicest  man  in  the  world. 

"  Yes,  at  last." 

The  wonderful  old  diplomat  with  the  silvery 
head  that  had  charmed  a  hemisphere  for  half  a 
century,  took  a  leisurely  pull  of  his  cigar. 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  murmured.  "  William 
Chudd?  Do  I  remember  William  Chudd?  I 


274  THE  TORTOISE 

seem  to,  and  yet  I  seem  not  to.     Which  is  it,  Peggy 
my  child,  do  I,  or  don't  I  ?  " 

'  You  do,  or  at  any  rate  you  ought  to.  You! 
used  to  see  a  lot  of  him,  at  one  time;  you  called  him 
the  Mandarin." 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  comes  back  to  me,  a  big  man,  fat, 
with  a  white  face  and  curious  eyes,  rather  Mongol- 
ian, quite  distinctly  Mongolian,  Arkwright's  mys- 
tjerious  friend,  socialist,  good  head  for  figures; 
small  voice  in  a  large  chest.  Passive  resister. 
Dead  weight  to  move.  Handsome  wife,  who 
didn't  like  me.  Of  course;  what's  he  been  up  to? 
Got  interned  in  Germany?" 

"  No,"  snapped  Peggy,  "  he  enlisted  as  a  pri- 
vate." 

"  How  very  curious." 

"  And  was  taken  prisoner." 

"  You  don't  say  so ! 

"  He  might  have  been  in  Mr.  Asquith's  Cabinet." 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  " 

"  But  he  preferred  to  fight  for  his  country." 

"  And  quite  right  too,  excellent  choice."  The 
old  gentleman  yawned,  delicately. 

Peggy  was  flushed,  her  eyes  blazed. 

"  You're  an  inhuman  old  thing." 

"Why  my  dear?     Why?" 

'  You  ought  to  admire  him,  and  do  something  to 
make  it  up  to  him  —  help  him  to  take  up  again  the 
old  life." 

"  Ah,  I  see,  you  want  him  back  in  politics." 

"  Politics  —  I  don't  care  that  for  Politics  but  I 


THE  TORTOISE  275 

want  his  old  colleagues  to  help  him  to  a  normal  life 
again,  and  give  him  a  welcome  —  worthy  of  him." 
"  I'm  afraid  my  child  that  you  are  rather  ro- 
mantic. The  war  forms  a  hiatus  in  such  lives,  noth- 
ing more.  Nothing  a  man  has  done  in  the  war, 
will  be  of  any  use  to  him  now.  Soldiering,  unfor- 
tunately, merely  unfits  a  man  for  living.  Chudd 
has  no  doubt  lost  his  aptitude  for  public  affairs. 
You  say  he  is  a  hero.  Ah  well.  Heroes  are  at  a 
discount  now.  And  heroism  is  not  exactly  a  profes- 
sion." But  Peggy  was  no  longer  listening.  She 
had  risen  to  her  feet  and  was  staring  with  parted 
lips  down  the  long  corridor  over  the  heads  of  the 
gay  crowd,  to  the  door. 

"  There  they  are,"  she  cried,  "  there  they  are." 
A  pale  woman  in  a  dark  coat  and  skirt  and  a  hag- 
gard man  who  might  have  been  taken  for  a  desti- 
tute and  exhausted  tramp,  had  just  come  into  the 
lighted  hall.  They  hesitated  a  moment  in  the 
glare,  and  those  who  were  seated  near  by  had  an 
opportunity,  of  seeing  their  faces,  and  they  were 
startled  by  what  they  saw.  Supreme  happiness, 
shining  there  unconscious  and  unashamed,  on  a 
woman's  white  face,  and  on  the  worn  and  furrowed 
visage  of  a  ragged  giant,  the  timid  trustfulness  of 
a  child  —  it  made  them  stare.  They  saw  too 
Lady  Sidlington  in  black  velvet  and  pearls  run  to 
these  strange  people,  cling  to  a  hand  of  each,  kiss 
the  woman,  and  then  too  the  man,  and  go  with 
them  to  the  lift  holding  tight  to  both  of  them  and 
come  away,  with  tears  swimming  in  her  eyes. 


276  THE  TORTOISE 

"  He  looked  like  a  man  come  back  from  the 
grave,"  said  one. 

"  But  did  you  see  his  face?  "  asked  another. 

"And  hers?" 

"  He  is  a  returned  prisoner  of  war,"  said  some- 
one, "  and  that  is  his  wife."  The  whisper  travel- 
led through  the  hall  from  one  table  to  another. 

Jocelyn  de  St.  Christe  had  watched  Lady  Sid- 
lington  run  to  the  door.  He  had  seen  what  the 
others  had  seen.  He  was  standing  alone,  as  she 
came  back,  but  she  did  not  notice  his  pale  curiously 
intent  stare,  for  her  eyes  were  dimmed,  she  saw 
nothing,  and  no  one,  but  she  found  her  way  to  the 
side  of  the  nicest  man  in  the  world. 

"  Peggy>"  ne  whispered. 

"Yes  dear—" 

"Are  they  happy?" 

'  You  should  have  seen  their  faces." 

She  turned  to  face  him,  her  eyes  brimming,  and 
smiled,  and,  there  was  something  for  him  in  that 
smile,  and  something  new  in  her  face,  that  had 
never  been  there  before. 

Upstairs  in  the  little  hotel  sitting  room  Helen 
knelt  on  the  floor  beside  her  husband's  chair.  He 
sat  motionless,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  half 
closed,  his  head  touching  her  hair.  His  immense 
frame  was  shrunken  in  its  torn  and  shabby  khaki 
clothing,  his  face  streaked  with  deep  lines,  his  eyes 
sunken.  He  spoke  slowly: 

"  Forgive  me  Helen,  if  I  seem  queer  —  I  am  so 
very  tired.  When  they  released  me  the  other  day 


THE  TORTOISE  277 

and  told  me  to  find  my  way  back,  I  was  afraid.  I 
was  almost  sorry  to  leave  the  camp.  It  is  difficult 
to  come  back  to  life  again.  I  had  left  friends 
there  —  pals  who  will  never  come  home  now.  I 
have  been  ill  myself  —  typhoid.  You  have  written 
that  you  were  waiting  for  me  —  but  I  wasn't  sure. 
It  was  difficult  to  distinguish  between  dreams  and 
reality  —  I  had  had  so  many  delusions.  How 
could  I  know  you  were  really  alive?  I  had  be- 
lieved for  so  long  that  you  were  dead.  Then 
Jimmy  told  me  that  I  was  mistaken,  but  when  I 
went  to  find  you  in  that  Hospital  you  were  gone. 
That  was  long,  long  ago.  Once  I  had  lived  for 
you,  only  for  you.  Then  I  had  ceased  to  live.  Liv- 
ing meant  nothing.  Death  was  far  more  real. 
What  is  living? 

"  In  the  camp,  we  had  enough  food.  Packages 
came  for  me,  supposedly  from  you.  I  always  had 
enough  tobacco  for  my  pipe.  The  Germans  swore 
at  us.  That  was  not  living.  Washing  out  the  hut 
— emptying  slops  —  making  boots  —  I  was  an  ef- 
ficient cobbler  —  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  on  earning 
my  living  as  a  cobbler  —  Maybe  that  is  all  I  am 
good  for  now  —  I  can't  remember  what  I  used 
to  do  before  the  war.  Before  the  war.  What  a 
rum  idea  as  if  there  ever  had  been  a  war. 

"  I  took  the  road  with  half  a  dozen  others,  they 
turned  us  loose  like  beasts,  thought  we  could  smell 
our  way  home.  We  didn't  know  where  to  go  — 
and  we  were  out  of  training.  I  pulled  my  cap  over 
my  eyes  so  as  not  to  see  too  much.  It  worried  me 


278  THE  TORTOISE 

you  know  to  be  free  in  such  a  big  place.  The  men 
were  worried  too.  They  kept  saying: 

"  '  Which  way,  Bill  ?  '  'You  lead,  Bill.'  '  How 
far  is  it  —  Will  there  be  a  train  ? ' 

"  I  didn't  feel  happy  —  just  depressed  and  guilty, 
as  if  I  were  being  pursued.  I  kept  saying  to  my- 
self— 'Helen  is  waiting,  Helen  is  waiting,'  with 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  mud  of  the  road,  but  I  didn't 
really  believe,  I  couldn't  believe,  I  didn't  know  how, 
I  couldn't  imagine  what  it  would  be  like  seeing  you 
again  —  you  had  been  for  so  long  the  light  of  my 
eyes  —  and  now  I  couldn't  remember  your  face  — 
not  really  remember.  I  didn't  seem  to  know  any- 
thing about  you,  not  as  I  know  other  things  —  I 
knew  all  about  the  war  —  I  knew  for  instance  all 
the  different  sounds  of  shells,  of  all  kinds  and  cali- 
bres, and  all  the  sounds  of  pain,  the  shouts  and  the 
screams  and  the  cries  and  the  curses  and  whinings 
—  I  knew  about  rats  and  vermin  and  flooded 
trenches  and  I  knew  all  the  odours  and  aspects  of 
disease  —  I  knew  men,  stripped  of  every  pretence 
and  every  protecting  bluff,  stark,  solid,  quailing  stoic 
men.  I  knew  just  exactly  their  capacity  for  suf- 
fering, the  extent  of  their  power  of  enduring  fa- 
tigue and  the  tenacity  of  their  hold  on  life.  I 
knew  a  hundred  ways  of  dying  and  as  many  of  kill- 
ing, and  what  it  was  to  be  hungry,  to  the  point  of  be- 
ing sick  at  the  sight  of  food.  And  I  knew  that  a 
man  could  give  his  life  for  a  friend,  and  his  last 
piece  of  bread  to  a  whining  pal  —  but  I  knew  noth- 
ing about  women  —  And  I  did  not  know  about  you 


THE  TORTOISE  279 

Helen  —  I  remember  that  I  had  spent  years  of  time 
absorbed  in  looking  at  you,  but  strain  my  inward 
gaze  as  I  might,  I  could  not  see  you  now  —  And  I 
was  afraid  to  see  you  —  afraid  I  would  not  recog- 
nize you. 

"  Thank  God  I  did.  It  was  the  strangest  thing. 
You  were  so  different,  so  different,  but  you  were 
different  in  a  way  that  I  understood  —  when  I  saw 
you  there  in  the  railway  station,  my  heart  gave  a 
leap,  your  white  face  so  wonderful  —  it  had 
changed  as  I  remember  now,  imagining  that  it  would 
change,  and  as  I  looked  at  you  —  I  knew  because 
of  the  war  you  had  changed,  that  you  were  mine. 

"  Jimmy  found  me  just  in  time  —  another  year 
like  those  two  first  years  of  the  war  and  I  would  not 
have  been  fit  to  come  back  to  you  —  now  —  I  don't 
know  —  you  and  I  are  not  the  same  —  but  we'll 
find  a  way  —  Jimmy  said  you  wanted  me  to  live  and 
that  I  suppose  is  the  reason  I  did  live  —  some  didn't. 
Some  went  crazy.  Many  died.  There  was  typhus 
in  the  camp.  Some  died  of  heart  break,  it  was  too 
long.  They  hadn't  enough  hope  to  last  out  to  the 
end. 

"  We'll  go  back  to  the  country  shall  we?  And  sit 
awhile  very  quiet  in  the  garden,  and  after  a  time, 
the  war  will  seem  just  a  bad  dream. 

"  You  know,  the  strangest  thing  is  going  to  hap- 
pen. No  one  is  going  to  want  to  remember  this  war 
—  and  no  one  will  ever  know  what  men  did,  out 
there,  and  no  one  will  care,  and  they  are  going  to  say 
it  was  all  for  nothing,  and  no  one  will  ever  under- 


280  THE  TORTOISE 

stand,  because  those  of  us  who  know  won't  be  able 
to  tell. 

"  But  I  will  be  able  to  care  for  you  —  I  believe  I 
will  be  able  to  care  for  you  better  than  I  ever  did 
before  —  you  see  the  war  has  been  a  wonderful 
thing  for  individual  man  —  up  against  it  —  all 
alone  —  all  alone.  The  men  that  died  and  the  men 
that  lived  discovered  things  out  there  —  but  they 
can't  tell.  The  dead  are  dumb  and  will  be  forgot- 
ten —  and  the  living  if  they  tried  to  tell  would  be 
thought  only  tiresome  bores  —  but  all  the  same  — 
it's  true  —  I'm  tired  now  —  but  you  will  see  — 
Helen  —  you  will  see  — " 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
^T  T*7  r»n  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


UNIVERSITY 


OF  v. 


A     000  501  237     2 


